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And are you really and indy a fool? asked Tom. 
— Page 56. 




TOM PLAYFAIR; 


OR 


MAKING A START. 


BY 

FRANCIS J. FINN, S.J., 

Author of Percy IVynn" "Harry Dee” etc. 





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NEW YORK, CINCINNATI, CHICAGO: 

BJENZIGER BROTHERS, 

Printers to the Holy Apostolic See 
1892. 





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Copyright, 1891, by Benziger BrotherSc 


PREFACE. 



HE vicissitudes of the “Tom Playfair ”manu- 


1 script would of itself make a story. How it 
was written over seven years ago, for the sake of a 
college class, and with no ulterior thought of publi- 
cation; how portions of it gradually found their 
way into print; how the writer hesitated for years 
whether to consign the remaining parts to the book 
publisher or to the waste-basket; how the cordial 
reception of “ Percy Wynn,” and the kind words con- 
cerning “ Tom Playfair” from critics and from read- 
ers inspirited him to take the venerable manuscript 
— done at all manner of odd times, in lead pencil 
and ink, upon all sorts and conditions of paper — 
from his trunk, and subsequently devote no small 
part of his vacation days (July, August, 1891) to its 
revisal; how the valued advice and kind words of 
literary friends served him in the revision — are not 
all these things indelibly impressed upon the author’s 
memory ? 

And now he ventures to offer this story to the 
boys and girls of the land, in the hope that it may 
afford them healthful pleasure. 

Advancing the figure learnedly styled hysteron- 
proteron from sentences to volumes, he has published 


3 




4 


PREFACE. 


“ Percy Wynn ” first, although Percy’s adventures 
are subsequent to Tom’s. The reason for this pro- 
cedure may be gathered from what has been said of 
the “ Tom Playfair” manuscript. 

St. Maure’s is a pseudonym for a certain college 
in the West. Besides inventing incidents, the 
author, to suit his purpose, has on occasion taken 
liberties with the local surroundings; but in the 
main he has adhered to the prototype. 

It is almost needless to say that the real college 
never suffered from the effects of a thunderbolt; in 
fact, the “cupola,” upon which turns a catastrophe 
recorded in these pages, was erected, not by an archi- 
tect, but by a few strokes of the pen. 

Near this Western college there is a village — a 
thriving, happy community. This village the au- 
thor has eliminated from these stories. The village 
of St. Maure’s, which takes its place, is a fiction. 

In drawing, with certain necessary reserves, upon 
his three years’ experience at this Western college, 
the author has, perhaps, made too little of one strik- 
ing feature — the manly piety of the students. In all 
his experiences there he could count upon his fingers 
those who, while in attendance, had evidently 
changed for the worse; and they were marked 
exceptions. 

It is hard upon seven years since the writer last 
saw “ St. Maure’s.” Then it was just on this side of 
its pioneer days. Now it is a college with a history 
of which it may well be proud. The “ old church 
building,” the little boys’ dormitory and wash- 
room, the long, low frame structure used as an ^- 
firmary, are gone; new and nobler piles have arisen 


PREFACE, 


5 


in their place so that the college of to-day, as Peg- 
gotty remarked, I believe, of her nephew. Ham, has 
“ growed out of knowledge ; and yet the sweet 
spirit of faith and prayer has abided unchanged 
amid all changes. 

The author has not seen these changes he is 
blessed in believing. Nor can he doubt, aside from 
all testimony, that the same spirit pervades them 
all. The Dial,, a college paper conducted by the 
students, reaches him every month ; and he can read 
in the lines and between the lines that the college 
of to-day and the college of seven years ago are one 
in that closest and most sacred of moral unions — a 
true, devout. Catholic spirit. 

Francis J. Finn, S.J. 


October ig^ i8gi. 


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CONTENTS. 


Preface, 


CHAPTER I. 

In which the hero of the story is represented in doubtful 
light, 


CHAPTER II. 

In which Tom by a series of misadventures brings down the 
wrath of his father in such wise that the author, for fear 
of forfeiting Tom’s chances of becoming a hero in the 
reader’s eyes, discreetly veils what actually happened 
when justice was administered, .... 

CHAPTER III. 

In which Tom leaves for St. Maure’s, and finds on the road 
thither that fun sometimes comes expensive, . 

CHAPTER IV. 

Tom arrives at St. Maure’s and makes the acquaintance of 
John Green under circumstances not entirely grateful to 
that interesting character, ..... 

CHAPTER V. 

In which Tom is persuaded to go to sleep, . 

CHAPTER VI. 

In which Green and Tom run a race which proves disastrous 
to both, ......... 


PAGE 

3 


II 


17 


28 


41 


57 


65 


8 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER VII. 

PAGE 

In which Tom usurps minor orders with startling results, 72 
CHAPTER VIII. 

In which Tom gets into many difficulties, and holds an 

astonishing interview with Mr. Middleton, ... 80 

CHAPTER IX. 

In which Tom concludes that vinegar never catches flies, 94 
CHAPTER X. 

In which Tom gives Green a bit of advice, which, aided 

by a storm, is not without its effect, ... 98 

CHAPTER XI. 

The night of the first Friday in November, . . . no 

CHAPTER XII. 

Tom’s midnight adventure, . . . . . . 119 

CHAPTER XIII. 

In which Tom takes a trip, . . . . . . 125 

CHAPTER XIV. 

In which Tom goes to the theatre, . . . . 130 

CHAPTER XV. 

In which Tom is lost, 134 

CHAPTER XVI. 

In which Tom enters upon a career of extravagance, . i-]b 

CHAPTER XVII. 

In which the prodigal returns. 


154 


CONTENTS. 


9 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

l-AGE 

In which Tom astonishes and horrifies his aunt, . , 164 

CHAPTER XIX. 

In which Tom and Keenan hold a council of war, , 178 

CHAPTER XX. 

Storming of the snow-fort — Mr. Beakey talks at cross 

purposes with the senior students, . . . . 184 

\ CHAPTER XXI. 

In which Tom meets with a bitter trial, . . . 195 

CHAPTER XXII. 

In which Tom wins a new friend and hea- a strange 

story, 201 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

In which the “ Knickerbockers” play the “Red Clippers,” 212 
CHAPTER XXIV. 

Trouble ahead 217 

CHAPTER XXV. 

A joyous going forth, and a sad journey home, . . 224 

CHAPTER XXVI. 

Sickness, 232 

CHAPTER XXVII. 

Death, 237 


lo CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER XXVIII. 

An escape from jail, and the beginning of a snow-storm, 


CHAPTER XXIX. 
End of the snow-storm, . . , 


CHAPTER XXX. 


PAGE 

243 


250 


Conclusion, 


252 


TOM PLAYFAIR. 


CHAPTER I. 


IN WHICH THE HERO OF THE STORY IS REPRESENTED 


IN A DOUBTFUL LIGHT, 



1 No answer. 

“ Tommy — do you hear me ? Get up this moment, 
sir. Do you think this house is a hotel ? Every 
one’s at breakfast except yourself.” 

Miss Meadow, Tom Playfair’s maternal aunt, stood 
without the door of Master Playfair’s sleeping 
apartment. She paused for a moment, partly to gain 
her breath (having come up three pairs of stairs to 
arouse Tom) and partly to await some reply from 
our sleeping hero. 

The silence, however, was simply emphasized by 
the ticking of the great clock in the hall. 

“ Tommy !” she resumed at length, in a higher key, 
“ do you hear me ?” 

Her strained ears caught the duU sound as of some 
one turning lazily in his bed. “ Now you’re awake, 
sir, jump right up, and dress for your breakfast.” 

“Sho! scat!” came a yawning voice from the 


room. 


12 


TOM PL A YFAIR. 


“Dear me!” cried poor Miss Meadow, “the boy 
doesn’t mind me in the least.” 

“What’s the trouble, Jane ?” queried Mr. Playfair, 
who just then issued from his room. 

“ I can’t get that Tommy out of bed. He’s grow- 
ing worse every day, George. Last week he was late 
for school five times.” 

“I’ll fix that, Jane,” said Mr. Playfair. And he 
took one step toward Tom’s sleeping-room, when 
the door of that apartment opened a few inches, dis- 
covering a young face peering anxiously from beneath 
a mass of tangled hair. 

“Pa,” said the apparition, “I’m dressing just as 
fast as I know how. I heard you, auntie, and I’m 
coming right away.” 

Then the door closed. Tom, it must be explained, 
had been composing himself for another nap, when 
the whispered dialogue between his aunt and his 
father had brought him out of bed with most un- 
wonted celerity. The wily lad deemed it best not 
to wait for an order from his father. Hence the 
apparition. 

“ If you are not at the breakfast table in two min- 
utes, sir, you shall hear from me,” and with these 
sternly delivered words Mr. Playfair conducted Miss 
Meadow to breakfast. 

Little more than a minute later, a stout, healthy, 
dark-complexioned lad of ten emerged from his room 
ready and eager for the labor and heat of the day. 
His rosy face and jet-black hair gave token of a 
hasty toilet. His shoes were partially buttoned, his 
sturdy legs were encased in a pair of bright red stock- 
ings and rather tight knickerbockers, and his chubby 
cheeks wore an air of serenity, which coupled with 


TOM FLA YFAIR. 


13 


his naturally handsome features made him a pleas- 
ing sight to all lovers of the genuine American 
boy. 

Hastily descending the stairs (which he did by 
taking from three to four steps at a bound), Tom 
very quickly presented himself in the dining room, 
and ignoring the presence of the cat, in the teasing 
of which he spent a considerable portion of his valu- 
able time, he seated himself at table, and fell to with 
great good will. But trouble was brewing. 

Besides Mr. Playfair and Miss Meadow, there was 
at table a young man, brother to Tom’s aunt, and 
the bane of our hero’s life. Mr. Charles Meadow 
was not a bad young man, but he had, despite this 
negative good quality, a large and constantly in- 
creasing stock of small faults, one of which was an 
inordinate delight in teasing and browbeating Tom. 
It is fair to say, however, that in the indulgence of 
this fault Mr. Meadow did not always come off with 
flying colors. Tom contrived to gain a victory now 
and then, and thus added a zest to the domestic 
war, which would otherwise have been too one-sided 
to be interesting. Strangely enough, Mr. Playfair 
held himself, in general, strictly neutral ; and it was 
only when the campaign gave signs of unusual bit- 
terness that he felt himself called upon to interfere. 

On the present occasion young Mr. Meadow had 
been awaiting with ill-concealed anxiety Tom’s 
appearance. 

“ Oh, so here you are at last, are you ?” he began 
as Tom seated himself at the table. 

In the tranquillity of a healthy appetite applied 
to its proper purpose, Tom ignored the enemy’s 
hostile flag. 


14 


TOM TLA YFAIT. 


“ Look here, young man,” continued Mr. Meadow, 
“ were you at my room again last night ?” 

“ How could a fellow get in your old room when 
you had it locked?” queried Tom with virtuous 
indignation. 

“Never mind the ‘how,’ but did you go into my 
room last night ?” 

“Say, Aunt Jane, please put a little more sugar in 
this coffee. You never do give me enough.” 

“What I want to know,” pursued the unrelenting 
uncle, “ is, whether you went into my room last night. ” 

“ If you stayed at home, and went to bed early, 
instead of running round the town nights,” answered 
Tom, still desirous of shifting the battle-ground, 
“you wouldn’t be asking such questions.” 

At this moment Mary the cook entered the dining- 
room with a plate of pancakes. 

If Tom had a preference, it was for this dish. 

“Whoop!” he cried, and his eyes glistened. 

A smile of triumph passed over Mr. Meadow’s coun- 
tenance; just as Tom was about to help himself lib- 
erally to the food of his preference, his persecutor 
took possession of the plate, and having helped Mr. 
Playfair and Miss Meadow to several cakes, he placed 
the rest upon his own plate. 

Tom waxed angry. 

“Oh! you think you’re funny, don’t you? May be 
you don’t use hair-dye for that straw-colored mus- 
tache of yours — I spelled it on a big bottle.” 

Mr. Playfair smiled. Miss Meadow tittered, Mr. 
Meadow blushed deeply. Recovering himself, he 
returned to the charge. 

“Aha!” he cried, directing his forefinger at Tom. 
“ So you have been in my room ?” 


TOM PLA YFAIR. 


15 


It was Tom’s turn to blush; he was fairly caught. 

“ How did you get in, sir ?” continued Mr. Meadow, 
pursuing his advantage. 

“Button-hook,” answered Tom, with the falling 
inflection. 

“ Exactly — that’s just what I thought, and that’s 
just the way you ruined the lock of the pantry last 
week.” 

Mr. Playfair’s face took on an air of concern; he 
glanced severely at the culprit. 

“Well,” drawled Tom, “I guess it isn’t fair to 
lock up ripe apples. They don’t give a fellow any 
show in this house.” 

“Tommy!” — an electric shock seemed to convulse 
our little pantry-burglar at the low, stern tones of 
his father’s voice, — “Tommy, have you been forc- 
ing locks with a button-hook again ?” 

The roses in Tom’s cheeks grew out of all bounds, 
till the “ roots of his hair were stirred ” ; he dropped 
his knife and fork, and with a despairing expression 
hung his head. 

“ This is getting too bad,” Mr. Playfair continued. 
“ I don’t like to say it, but such conduct is more fit 
for a young thief than for a little boy whom his 
father wishes to make a gentleman.” At the word 
“ thief” there was a subdued boo-hoo, followed by the 
sound of heavy breathing. 

“You may well cry, sir,” pursued the parent, “ for 
you have every reason to be ashamed of yourself. ” 

“I j-j-just d-d-did it for f-fun,” he sobbed. 

“Oh, you’re exceedingly funny!” broke in Mr. 
Meadow with infinite sarcasm. 

This last remark filled his cup of sorrow to over- 
flowing; stifling an incipient sob and muttering that 


i6 


TOM FLA YFAIR. 


he “didn’t want no breakfast,” he departed into the 
welcome solitude of the hall. The word “thief” 
still rang in his ears, and sigh upon sigh bursting at 
short intervals from his passion-racked bosom testi- 
fied his appreciation of the term. 

Presently Mr. Meadow, on his way down town, 
where he held the honorable position of assistant 
book-keeper in a St. Louis hardware store, issued 
from the dining-room. At the sight of him, Tom’s 
grief hardened into the sterner form of anger. 

“You’ll pay for this, Mr. Give-away,” he mut- 
tered, shaking a diminutive fist at Mr. Meadow. 
“ I’m going to see Miss Larkin to-day — I will, I will! 
— and I’ll just tell her all the mean things you say 
to me, how your mustache is dyed — see if I don’t, — 
I’ll spoil your chances there.” 

Mr. Meadow, who had a soft spot in his heart 
(devoted almost exclusively to said Miss Larkin), 
was taken back not a little at this threat. 

“You young scamp, ” he roared with more earnest- 
ness than dignity, “ if you go near that young lady 
with any of your wretched stories. I’ll give you a 
cowhiding.” 

“Ugh! you give-away !” cried Tom with ineffable 
disgust. 

“So, sir; that's the language you use to your 
uncle,” said Mr. Playfair, who as he opened the din- 
ing-room door had caught these words. “ Go up to 
your room, sir, and don’t leave it till nine o’clock. 
Jane,” he continued, looking into the dining-room, 
“please tell Tommy when it is nine.” 

Mr. Playfair left the house with a stern cast of 
countenance. Tom was scarcely five when his mother 
died. The boy was good — but the want of a mother’s 


TOM FLA YFAIF. 


17 


care and refining influence was very evident. Then 
too, Mr. Playfair reflected, the child stood in great 
danger of having his disposition ruined. Petted by 
Miss Meadow, he was growing selfish; teased by 
Mr. Meadow, he was becoming bold. 

“Yes,” he muttered, “I shall have to take some 
decisive step, or the boy will be spoiled.” 


CHAPTER II. 

IN WHICH TOM BY A SERIES OF MISADVENTURES BRINGS 
DOWN THE WRA TH OF HIS FA THER IN SUCH WISE THA T 
THE A UTHOR, FOR FEAR OF FORFEITING TOM'S CHANCES 
OF BECOMING A HERO IN THE READER'S EVES, DIS- 
CREETLY VEILS WHAT ACTUALLY HAPPENED WHEN 
JUSTICE WAS ADMINISTERED. 

T he mournful wail that swept at dismal intervals 
through Mr. Playfair’s house touched the sym- 
pathetic chord of compassion in the heartstrings of 
gentle Aunt Jane. Stealing softly up to Tom’s room, 
she entered on tiptoe. Master Tom, his hair di- 
shevelled, and the channels of grief plainly traced 
upon his cheeks, was lying prone upon his bed. The 
sight of her compassionate face opened a new flood of 
tears. 

“ Don’t cry. Tommy,” she said softly. 

“ I wish I was dead,” cried that young gentleman. 
“ Now, now, Tommy,” exclaimed the horrified and 
too credulous aunt, “don’t talk that way: it is sin- 
ful, and I’m sure you don’t mean it.” 

“I’ll bet I do,” he howled. “And I wish I was 
b-b-buried too under the ground. And I’ll tell you 
what. Aunt Jane, I’ll run away.” 

2 , - 


i8 


TOM PLA YFAIR. 


“ Oh, Tommy, how can you say such wicked things ? 
Come, now, can’t I bring you up some breakfast?” 

“Don’t want any breakfast. I’ll run away, and 
sell newspapers, and have a jolly time,” 

“ Dear, dear, where did you get all these notions ?” 
querkd Miss Meadow, whose confiding spirit received 
these exaggerated expressions of grief as so much 
gospel truth. “ Tommy, what do you say to some 
buttered toast, and a bit of cake?” 

In spite of himself, Tom could not help showing, 
at this stage, some interest in sublunary affairs. 

“No,” he said, sitting up in bed, “but I’d like to 
have some pancakes.” 

“They’re all gone. Tommy, and it’s so much 
trouble to make them.” 

“Well, then, I don’t want any breakfast,” he said, 
throwing himself back on the bed, and relapsing into 
sobs. 

This last exhibition of tactics won the victory. 
Miss Meadow descended to the kitchen, and put her- 
self to the elaborate work of making pancakes for the 
world-worn youth of ten. 

Upon her departure, Tom smiled in a manner not 
entirely devoid of guile; and the smile running 
counter to his tears formed a sort of facial rainbow. 

Presently Aunt Jane appeared with the pancakes, 
and other delicacies, and very shortly, indeed, Tom 
fell to in a manner most encouraging to behold. 

“ I say. Aunt Jane,” he said, speaking with as much 
distinctness as the crowded state of his mouth would 
allow, “ you’re a real genuine, old fairy-grandmother, 
you are.” 

He intended this fora magnificent compliment, but 
Aunt Jane did not look particularly gratified. To a 


TOM FLA YFAIF. 


19 


miss of thirty the epithets “ old ” and “ grandmother ” 
were rather suggestive. 

Perceiving that he had made some mistake, Tom 
added : 

“I’ll tell you what, Auntie, I won’t bother your 
pantry, or scare the cook for — well, for a week.” 
He spoke as if he felt how handsome his offer was. 

“That sounds better,” said Miss Meadow. “So 
you’ll be a good boy now, wont you?” 

“ Honor bright. Aunt Jane.” And Miss Meadow, 
with this consolatory assurance gladdening her heart, 
departed to attend to her domestic affairs, having 
first given him his liberty. 

Availing himself of this, he was presently engaged 
in the back yard in constructing a chicken-coop. 

“ Halloa!” said a voice directly behind him. 

“ Halloa yourself ; is that you, Jeff?” he made 
answer, as a boy of about his own age, with a dollish 
face, and clad in soft garments, met his view. 

“Got any chickens yet?” asked Jeff, ignoring 
Tom’s question as being superfluous. 

• “Not yet, but I guess I’ll trade off my base-ball 
with Tom White for one.” And master Tom picked 
up a pine board which he proceeded to split into 
smaller sections. In the midst of this interesting 
operation, a chip flew up, striking Jeff rather sharply 
upon the lobe of his left ear. 

“ Confound you !” shouted Jeff, rubbing the injured 
member with pathetic earnestness. 

“You needn’t curse,” said Tom resentfully. 

“ That aint cursin’,” retorted Jeff in a sharper key. 

“Well, it’s vulgar all the same,” insisted Tom, 
unwilling to give in entirely. 

“It isn’t.” 


20 


TOM PLA YFAIR, 


“It is.” 

“ I tell you it isn’t.” 

“ I tell you it is.” 

“ I guess my pa uses it.” 

“ J/y pa doesn’t, and he ought to know.” 

Their voices “ took a higher range. ” 

“ See here, Jeff Thompson, do you mean to say that 
your pa knows more than mine?” 

“Yes, I do.” 

Tom seemed to think that the conversation had 
reached a point where argument should be advanced 
by other means than mere verbal expression, for he 
suddenly struck out straight from the shoulder, and 
before his astonished opponent could hold up his 
hands to ward off the blow a sturdy little fist came 
into forceful contact with Jeff’s nose. 

As stars gladiatorial flashed before Jeff’s eyes, his 
yell of anguish broke upon the silence. 

“I’m killed,” he shrieked, as the blood gushed 
from his injured member. 

The fast-flowing stream frightened Tom exceed- 
ingly. 

“ Oh, Jeff! ” he cried, clasping his hands, “ I didn’t 
mean to hurt you so much — cross my heart, I didn’t,” 
and he rubbed his thumb so as to form an invisible 
cross upon the right side of his sailor jacket, suppos- 
ing, in his ignorance, that he had precisely located 
his heart. 

“Go ’way, don’t talk to me,” said Jeff, suspending 
a howl to deliver this important communication. 
“I’ll never speak to you again.” 

“Oh, Jeff, don’t stand bleeding!” implored Tom. 
“Come ’long to the pump and I’ll help you wash 
yourself.” 


TOM FLA YFAIR. 


21 


“ I wont go to the pump,” roared Jeff. * I’ll just 
stand here and bleed to death, and you’ll be hung 
for a murderer.” 

This threat, coupled with the sight of the flowing 
blood, filled Tom’s soul with horror. 

“ Good gracious! Jeff, I believe yoMwill die, if you 
keep on bleeding.” , ^ 

“ Do you think so?” inquired Jeff, paling a little, 
for he was not so very anxious for death. 

“ Yes, Jeff, I — I’m afraid you’re gone, and you’ll be 
cold and stiff, and a big policeman will come and 
grab me, and a judge will hang me in a black cap — 
Oh, gracious!” And at this dismal prospect Tom 
blubbered. 

“ I guess I’ll go to the pump,” said Jeff. And two 
mournful little lads sought together the cooling 
waters. Despite the wholesome application of the 
water, the bleeding still continued. Their looks of 
dismay deepened. Suddenly Tom’s face lighted up. 

“Oh, Jeff! I’ve got it! I heard Aunt Jane read in 
an almanax that if you hold your arm up when your 
nose is blooded it will stop.” 

Forthwith, Jeff’s right arm reached madly toward 
the sky. To the intense gratification of both parties 
the bleeding soon began to subside. 

“ I say, Jeff, hold up both arms, that ought to make 
it stop twice as fast.” 

With equal docility, Jeff struck the new attitude. 
The bleeding was now almost imperceptible. 

“And, Jeff, what’s the matter with your leg?” 

“ How ?” 

“Suppose you hold that up too.” 

There was a returning twinkle in Tom’s eye, which 
Jeff failed to notice. 


22 


TOM PLA YFAIR, 


“How’ll I do it?” 

“ Lean up against the pump, and I’ll fix the rest.’’ 

Jeff obeyed, and Tom catching hold of the patient’s 
right leg lifted it up, up, up, till Jeff shrieked with 
pain. 

“ Drop it, you goose!’’ 

“You needn’t get excited. I didn’t mean to hurt 
you,’’ said Tom, apologetically, and he lowered Jeff’s 
leg a few inches. 

It was a funny sight — Jeff leaning against the pump 
with his two arms raised perpendicularly, and his leg 
supported at a right angle to the rest of his body by 
his sympathetic friend. The bleeding soon ceased, 
and Tom showed his sense of the humor of the situa- 
tion by giving the leg such a twist that Jeff shrieked 
louder than ever. 

“You’re a mean fellow, and I wont speak to you 
again,’’ vociferated Jeff when he had recovered 
speech. 

“ You oughtn’t to sass a boy in his own yard,’’ said 
Tom argumentatively. 

“Who’s going to stay in your old yard?’’ and Jeff 
in high dudgeon made his way into the alley. 

Tom now devoted himself for the next five minutes 
to the construction of the chicken-coop. Presently 
wearying of this lonely occupation he clambered over 
the fence into the alley in search of some compan- 
ion. To his great disappointment not a single boy 
was to be seen except Jeff Thompson, who was por- 
ing interestedly over a kite. The loneliness which 
had come upon Tom caused his heart to soften. 

“ I say, Jeff, got a string for that kite?’’ 

“ You needn’t mind about this kite,’’ answered Jeff, 
without raising his eyes. 


rOM PLA VFAIR. 


23 


“ Because, if you haven’t,” went on Tom in gentle 
tones, “I’ll lend you mine.” 

Jeff’s countenance softened somewhat. Tom, see- 
ing his advantage, followed it up. 

“ Oh, Jeff, you ought to see my new flint!” 

“ Where’d you get it?” This with awakened inter- 
est. 

“Bunkered it off Sadie Roberts; come on up, and 
I’ll show it to you.” 

This ended all hostilities; and within five minutes 
Jeff and Tom had entered into a solemn contract to 
be “ partners ” thenceforward and forever. 

An hour or so after this binding contract. Aunt 
Jane called up at Tom’s room to ascertain what was 
keeping that young gentleman so quiet. His tran- 
quillity was easily explained; neither Tom nor Jeff 
was there. Miss Meadow made a careful examina- 
tion of the house, paying special attention to Mr. 
Meadow’s room, and the pantry; but finding not even 
a trace of her graceless charge in these places, she 
hurried into the yard. Her eyes swept anxiously 
over the limited view. The yard was deserted. 

“Tom!” she cried. 

“Yes’m.” 

“Good gracious! where in the world are you?” 

“Up here.” 

Miss Meadow raised her eyes, then gave a shriek 
of horror; on the slanting roof of the house Tom 
was busily attending to a dove-cot with one hand, 
while the other was held by Jeff, who was standing 
on the top rung of a ladder, his little nose, “ tip-tilted 
like the petal of a flower,” just appearing over the 
opening in the skylight. 

“ Tommy, get down out of that this very instant. 


24 


TOM PLA YFAIR. 


Good gracious ! do you want to slip off and kill your- 
self?” 

“I want to put some feed in for my doves. I 
don’t care about falling and killing myself,” came 
the tranquil answer. 

“Tommy, I want you to get down from that dan- 
gerous position instantly.” 

“Oh, Auntie, just one minute; I’m all right.” 

Miss Meadow was ready to cry with anxiety. 
“Tommy, if you don’t obey me this very — ” 

Miss Meadow paused on seeing the look of anima- 
tion that suddenly appeared upon Tom’s features. 

“ Did you hear it, Jeff?” 

“ What ?” 

“It’s the fire bell, — hurrah!” and with a quick 
spring through the trap - door Master Tom dis- 
appeared. 

“ Now, he thinks he’s going off to the fire,” solilo- 
quized Miss Meadow; “but out of this house he shall 
not stir one step.” And she hastened in, constrain- 
ing her mind to the proper degree of firmness. But 
alas! as she passed through the kitchen and dining- 
room into the hall, four sturdy little legs twinkled 
down the front door steps; and two treble voices 
raised to their highest yelling key completely 
drowned her command to come back. 

Miss Meadow sank into a chair and wiped her 
eyes. It was mortifying to confess even to herself, 
but she had to admit that Tom was fast slipping be- 
yond her control. The mild, timid little lady was 
no match for the wild, impetuous, thoughtless boy. 
If Tom could have understood the pain and anxiety 
his conduct had wrought in her gentle bosom, he 
would have thought twice before taking so abrupt a 


TOM TLA YFAIR. 


25 


departure. But her tears (so far as he was concerned) 
were as dew upon the naked rock ; and, shouting with 
excitement, he hurried away through the streets to 
the scene of the fire. 

The dinner hour came, but no Tom ; and the poor 
lady with aching eyes peered long through the parlor 
window hoping to catch some glimpse of the return- 
ing adventurer. As the quarters passed on, Miss 
Meadow became more grieved. 

“ I must give up,” she said to herself. “ The boy 
loves me, I am sure; but I cannot take the place of 
his poor dead mother. He does just what he likes. 
Unless something decided be done, he will grow 
up to be self-willed and undisciplined. Thank God ! 
to-morrow’s a class day. But even at school he is 
not under the proper charge. Miss Harvey teaches 
well; but in Tommy’s hands she is powerless.” 

At length, wearied with waiting, and ve^ed with 
the disagreeable train of thought Tom’s recent esca- 
pades had occasioned, she endeavored, with, poor 
success, however, to eat a little dinner. As she was 
about to leave the table, a light but slow tread was 
heard without. The tread drew nearer; the door 
opened, and Tom, his stockings bespattered with 
mud, his shirt-collar crushed out of all shapeliness, 
his hat gone, and an expression of shame upon his 
dirt-smeared features, entered the room. 

“Well, sir,” began his aunt, who, in spite of the 
joy she felt at his reappearance, was determined to 
be severe, “ how are you going to account for your- 
self ?” Tom hung his head, fell into a close consid- 
eration of his feet; and, having no hat to twirl, be- 
gan pulling his fingers. 

“Aren’t you ashamed of yourself?” 


26 


TOM PLA YFAIR. 


Tom appeared to consider this a difficult question. 

“ Do you hear? Aren’t you ashamed of yourself?” 

“Yes’m,” this in a subdued tone, and after due 
reflection. 

“ Now, sir, you needn’t think to escape a flogging. 
Let’s hear your story, and then I’ll attend to you in 
your room, where you may remain fasting till supper. ” 

Healthy boys as a rule are not pleased with the 
prospect of losing their dinner; nor is the number 
great of those boys who entertain no prejudices 
against flogging. Tom saw that matters had come 
to a crisis; and that nothing but a masterly stroke 
would win the day. Quick as thought the young 
general had planned out his campaign. Advancing 
to his aunt’s side in all humility, he suddenly caught 
her hand, and said : 

“ Auntie Jane, I’m sorry,” and before Miss Meadow 
could become aware of his intention, he threw his 
arms round her neck and kissed her. 

Under the warmth of this greeting, her icy stern- 
ness melted away, and flowed off in a gentle stream 
of kindness. 

“Poor boy! you must be tired and hungry, too. 
Indeed you don’t deserve any dinner. But sit down; 
I haven’t the heart to see you go to your room in 
hunger.” 

Tom was not slow to avail himself of this permis- 
sion; and while Miss Meadow, her bosom agitated 
by a conflict between duty and affection, helped him 
to the various dishes, Tom plied knife and fork with 
no small earnestness. 

For the rest of the afternoon he distinguished him- 
self by his conduct. In fact, he was trembling on 
account of the wrath to come. His unusual excur- 


TOM FLA YFAIR, 


27 


sion would be reported to his father, and then it 
would require more than Tom’s address to avoid 
serious consequences. 

Nor were his forebodings without foundation. 
When Mr. Playfair heard from Miss Meadow’s lips 
the , account of his son’s doings, he compressed his 
iips tightly, knit his brow, and then, after some seri- 
ous reflection, called for the culprit. 

“ Sir,” said the father sternly, “you have gone the 
limit of your tether.” 

Tom did not know what “ going the limit of one’s 
tether” meant; but entertaining the idea that it was 
something very horrid indeed, he set up a dismal 
wail. 

“ Sir, you need to learn obedience and respect to 
your elders. Next September, just five months from 
now, you start for St. Maure’s boarding-school, and 
remember this — if you give any trouble there. I’ll not 
allow you to make your First Communion for another 
year. Now, sir” — 

But as Tom Playfair is to be the hero of this vera- 
cious story I cannot bring myself to put on record 
what his father said further; still less have I the 
heart to chronicle what Mr. Playfair did. Tom was 
very noisy on the occasion. Up to this hour he had 
known the force of his father’s hand only from the 
friendly clasp. But over that occasion, which Tom 
never forgot, and over the ensuing five months, you 
and I, dear reader, drop a veil which shall not be 
withdrawn. 


28 


TOM PLA YFAIR, 


CHAPTER III. 

IN WHICH TOM LEAVES FOR ST. MAURES, AND FINDS ON 
THE ROAD THITHER THAT FUN SOMETIMES COMES 
EXPENSIVE. 

T his interval of five months taught Tom several 
years, as it were. The prospect of preparing 
for his First Communion, and of going to a school 
where he would be thrown upon his own resources, 
put a touch of earnestness, hitherto lacking, into 
his life, in such wise that there came a change 
so perceptible as even to attract Mr. Meadow’s 
notice. 

During the vacation, strange to say, Tom gave 
so little trouble that Aunt Jane entertained serious 
fears for his health. 

About thirty minutes past seven, on a Monday 
evening in September, Master Tom, enveloped in a 
linen duster which reached nearly to his heels, look- 
ing rather solemn and accompanied by his uncle, 
aunt, and father, stood silent in the Union Depot of 
St. Louis.* 

Bells were ringing, engines were puffing, hissing, 
and shrieking, tracks were rumbling and quivering; 
cars were moving in and out; newsboys, hackmen, 
and depot officials were shouting, porters were hurry- 
ing in every direction throwing trunks and other 
baggage, now here, now there, in a manner most con- 
fusing to the inexperienced eye ; women and children 
were standing near the ticket offices, or sitting rest- 
lessly in the waiting-rooms, some indulging in a hasty 


TOM PLA YFAIR. 


29 


lunch, many looking hopelessly lost: while the mul- 
titudinous electric lights flared and sputtered over 
the whole scene. 

As train after train moved away for its long jour- 
ney, and Tom realized that he too would soon be on 
his way to another part of the world, his heart grew 
heavy. 

“I say, pa,” he suggested, “I guess I don’t want 
to go.” 

Pa smiled. 

“ Mr. Don’t-Want is not a member of our family,” 
volunteered Mr. Meadow very smartly. 

Tom shot an indignant glance at the speaker of 
these cruel words. 

“ Keep up your courage. Tommy,” whispered Aunt 
Jane, quietly pressing a silver dollar into his hands. 
“ It’s for your own good, dear, and in ten short 
months you’ll come back a little man.” 

The prospect of ten short months, and the result- 
ant of a little man afforded him small consolation, 
but the silver dollar had a reassuring effect. Absent- 
ing himself from the family group, he immediately 
expended one quarter of his aunt’s gift on a paper 
of caramels and a cream-cake; and he was thinking 
very seriously of laying out twenty-five cents more in 
the purchase of a toy pistol, when a crowd of boys 
of all ages and sizes came pouring into the depot. 

Tom gazed at them in amazement. 

“ I say,” he said, addressing one of the boys about 
his own age, “what’s broken loose?” 

Instead of answering this question, the boy stopped 
and considered Tom attentively. “ Don’t you belong 
to our crowd ?” he at length said. 

“What crowd?” asked Tom. 


30 


TOM PLA YFAIR. 


“ The St. Maure’s fellows.” 

“What!” cried Tom in amazement, “are all you 
fellows going there too?” 

“That’s what they say.” 

“ Why, then, things aren’t so bad as I thought they 
would be. I say, let’s be partners. My name is 
Tommy Playfair: What’s yours?” 

“ Harry Quip.” 

“Here, take some candy,” said Tom, opening his 
package. 

Harry embraced both offers. Henceforth he and 
Tom were “ partners.” 

While the two were thus exchanging small-boy 
courtesies, a clean-shaven gentleman, somewhat be- 
yond middle age and attired in a clerical suit, walked 
up to them. 

Harry raised his hat, and endeavored to compose 
his features. 

“Well, Harry,” said the new-comer, “who is this 
little friend of yours?” 

Tom, perceiving that the eyes of the gentleman 
were fixed upon him, became nervous, and in endeav- 
oring to bolt a caramel which he had recently placed 
in his mouth, nearly choked himself. 

“This is Tommy Playfair,” said Harry. 

“ Oh, indeed ! so this is the boy that runs after fire- 
engines, is it ?” 

“ Only did it four or five times in my life, father. ” 

“And gets himself on top of slippery roofs.” 

Tom only remarked: — 

“Please, father, I wont do it again.” 

Upon this the reverend gentleman who had charge 
of the boys laughed cheerfully, shook his new ac- 
quaintance’s hand, and, cautioning both to take their 


TOM PLA YFAIR. 


31 


places in a car which he pointed out, hurried away 
to see to the safety of the luggage. 

“What’s his name?’’ inquired Tom. 

“That’s Father Teeman, he’s prefect of discipline 
at the college.’’ 

“Discipline!’’ echoed Tom, with a vague idea of 
a cat-o’-nine-tails running through his head; “what 
does that mean ?” 

“ It means that he does the whipping.” 

“Whew! — But he doesn’t look so savage.” 

“ He doesn’t have to. But just wait till he catches 
you cutting up. He’ll thrash you so as you will pre- 
fer standing to any other position for a week after.” 

Tom was appalled. His companion, could he 
only know it, was exaggerating grossly for the sake 
of enjoying the new-comer’s surprise and terror. 

“ Does he thrash a fellow often?” was Tom’s next 
question. 

“Well, I should say so! last year I got whipped 
nearly twice a day, and there was scarcely a week 
that I didn’t go to the infirmary to lay up for repairs. 

“Gracious!” ejaculated Tom. “I wont stand it. 
Harry, you and I are partners. I’ll tell you what 
let’s do. Nobody’s watching us. Let’s slip out. 
I’ve got a dollar, and we can support ourselves on 
that: and when we get broke, we’ll sell newspapers.” 

Harry had no idea of encouraging Tom to run 
away. In his school-boy idea of a good joke, he 
merely wished to put him in a state of dismal sus- 
pense. So he said; 

“ Oh ! you needn’t get scared ! There’s lots of fun 
out there.” 

“ I don’t see any fun in getting strapped once or 
twice a day.” 


32 


TOM PLA VFAIR. 


“You wont get a strapping at all, maybe. I was 
such a dreadful hard case, you see; that’s why I got 
it.” Notwithstanding this avowal it is but just to 
remark that Harry Quip’s features, in their normal 
state, wore a very mild expression. 

Still, Harry’s explanation did not succeed in 
disarming Tom’s fears. If there were to be any 
wild boys at St. Maure’s, Tom, like Abou Ben 
Adhem, had substantial reasons for believing that 
his name would lead all the rest. He was about 
to press his proposition of running away with 
still greater earnestness, when he heard his name 
called. 

“ Coming directly, sir. I say, Harry, you keep a 
seat for me next you on the car,” and Tom pattered 
off to bid adieu to his father. 

“Well, my boy,” said Mr. Playfair, catching Tom’s 
hand, “ I am about to put you into good hands. 
But you must be careful. You will now be thrown 
among all kinds of boys — bad, good, and indifferent. 
Remember, that on your choice of company depends 
in great part your piety. Teachers may instruct, 
priests may exhort, but if your company be bad you 
will be no better. And don’t forget that every day 
you are preparing for your First Communion. That 
should be the day of your life. If you make a good 
First Communion, you’re sure to get on well ; so look 
out for your company, and try to be as good a boy 
as you can. Now, my dear child, be watchful on 
these points. As to the rest, I hold no fear. 
Here’s something to keep your courage up — but 
don’t spend it all at once.” 

Tom took the advice in good part, and the five- 
dollar bill with effusive enthusiasm. Then kissing 


TOM PLA YFAIR. 33 

his father, he turned to Aunt Jane. The kind lady 
could not repress a few sobs. 

“God bless you, my boy!” she faltered. “Be 
sure and write every week; and I’ll pray for you 
every morning and every night as long as you’re 
away.” And she handed him a basket laden with 
his favorite delicacies. Tom’s eyes filled at these 
exhibitions of his aunt’s kindness. 

“I’ve been awful mean to you, Aunt Jane, lots of 
time; but I didn’t intend anything, you know; and 
I’m sorry And when I come back I hope I’ll be 
better — honor bright.” 

Even Mr. Meadow, yielding to the solemn influ- 
ence of a parting scene, had purchased his nephew 
a red-covered book, concerning an impossible boy, 
who met with all kinds of impossible adventures in 
an impossible country. 

“ Chicago-ooo-and Alton Railroad; all aboard for 
Kansas City!” shouted a voice. 

“That’s for you. Tommy,” Mr. Playfair said. 

They all moved towards the cars indicated. A 
negro in the official garments of the road met them 
half-way. 

“ Is he a college boy, sah ? Step jes dis way, sah. 
I have de high honaw of taking chahge of all of 
them. Come on, young gemman. Now, up you 
go.” And without giving our hero an opportunity 
of making a farewell speech, he quickly raised Tom 
upon the platform, and, in a manner quite gentle, 
yet effective, pushed him into the reclining-chair 
car. 

“Here you are, Tom!” shouted Master Quip, who 
faithful to his promise had kept his friend a seat 
beside him. 

3 


34 


TOM PLA VFAIR, 


Tom hastened to occupy the vacant chair, and 
seated himself as the train began to move out from 
the depot, while the boys gave three vigorous 
cheers. 

“Ah! I like this,” said Tom, throwing himself 
back in his seat, and yielding to the luxury of the 
hour. 

“Jolly, isn’t it?” Harry observed. “Take a 
smoke” and he offered Tom a cigarette. 

“Well, no,” said Tom with some hesitation. 

“ Why not ?” 

“Well, I’ll tell you,” answered Tom, in a burst 
of confidence. “ I hate anything like humbug. 
And if I was to smoke now, it would only be to look 
big. You see I’ve got no liking for it. I’ve smoked 
once or twice up in papa’s hay-loft, but it’s always 
made me feel bad. So you see I don’t like it; and 
I’d be a humbug if I pretended I did.” 

This was one of the longest speeches Tom had 
ever made; and it produced its impression. 

“Well, you’ve got true grit, Tom. And I like 
you the better for what you’ve said. I like a smoke 
myself once in a while, but I’m pretty sure that half 
the little chaps who smoke do it to look big.” 

“I’d rather be little than big,” said Tom. 

“Why?” 

“Oh, pshaw! a man’s got to shave, and has to 
dress stylish, and can’t play, nor eat candy in the 
streets, and lots of things.” 

“ That’s so.” 

“Yes; and then half of them get stuck up. And 
they wear stiff hats, and are afraid to run, and don’t 
play any games at all.” 

“Yes,” assented Harry; “and then when chaps 


TOM PLA YFAIR. 35 

grow up, they’ve such a lot of worry about bringing 
out their mustaches.” 

Both considered the subject pretty well exhausted. 

“ I say,” continued Tom, “they’re all boys in this 
car.” 

“Yes; it’s been chartered for our crowd.” 

“ Do you know them all ?” 

“ I know some of the old boys.” 

“ Who’s that fellow with his coat collar turned 
so’s to hide his ears, and his hair stickin’ up like 
bristles, trying to smoke a cigar as if he was used 
to it ?” 

“ That’s Johnny Shoestrings.” 

“ WhoV' 

“ Johnny Shoestrings. That’s his nickname, you 
know; he’s such a slouch. I can’t think of his right 
name.” 

“Who’s that boy with hair like a carrot banged 
all over his forehead, and a pug nose, and an aw- 
fully big mouth ?” 

“ That’s Crazy Green.” 

“ Crazy Green ?” 

“ That’s what everybody calls him. He hasn’t 
got any sense, and doesn’t know how to behave 
decent. In fact, I think he’s a real bad boy.” 

“Do all the fellows have nicknames?” asked 
Tom. 

“All the old boys have, except one.” 

“Who’s that?” 

“ His real name is Black, and it fits his color so 
well we thought we’d let him keep it.” 

“Who are those five fellows down there, who look 
like each other’s sisters, they’re all so timid and 
pretty ?” 


36 


TOM PLAYFAIR. 


“ New-comers,” answered Harry. 

Tom’s eyes were fascinated by this group; and, 
not being satisfied with the information Harry had 
vouchsafed, he went to the other end of the car 
where he could interview them personally. 

Having first satisfied himself by taking a deliber- 
ate survey of the five, much to their uneasiness and 
manifest discomfiture, he opened the conversation 
thus: — 

“I say, halloa!” 

The largest of the group, a boy about fourteen, 
answered timidly: — 

” How do you do, sir?” 

“I aint a sir: my name’s Tom Playfair. What’s 
your name?” 

“Alexander Jones.” 

“Whew! five Joneses. Are any of you twins?” 

“Harry and Willie are twins, sir.” 

“ There aint any triplets among you, are there?” 

“No, sir; not this time,” answered Alexander 
Jones, who in his timidity was accidentally face- 
tious. 

“Well, good-by; take care of yourselves.” And 
bestowing a genial grin upon the Jones brothers he 
returned to his seat. 

The train, having now crossed the great bridge 
that spans the Mississippi and passed out of the city 
of Alton, was speeding along through the open 
country. Without it was pitch dark, and the sable 
solemnity of the night was enhanced by an occasional 
light that flashed before the eyes of the passengers 
at the windows, and then as quickly disappeared. 

“I say, what kind of a place is it?” asked Tom, 
resuming his conversation with Harry. 


TOM PLAYFAIR. 


37 


“What place? — the gravy station ?” 

“ Is that what you call it?” 

“Yes; they feed us on corn-bread and gravy.” 

“ And don’t you get any meat ?” 

“Oh, yes! they give us meat on Christmas; and at 
New Years every one gets a small piece of pie.” 

“Gracious!” cried Tom, absently placing his hand 
upon his stomach. “ But I suppose you have lots 
of holidays?” 

“ Not so many, I can just tell you; and then even 
we’ve got to stay cooped up in a little yard that 
isn’t large enough to swing a cat in.” 

“They’re not going to treat me that way. When 
no one is looking I’ll slip out every chance I 
get.” 

“ If you do,” said Master Quip, who was bent on 
scaring Tom to the utmost, “you’ll get collared by a 
prefect and then posted.” 

“ What do you mean by ‘posted’ ?” 

“ Why, a great big prefect bangs you up against a 
tree-box, or a post, or a stonewall; and tells you 
that if you move from it before three hours are up 
he’ll petrify you.” 

Tom groaned. 

“I guess my fun is all over,” he muttered in a 
faltering voice. 

“Oh, we have fun sometimes, you know.” 

“How is that?” asked Tom anxiously. 

“ Why, we go out walking in ranks — two abreast — 
on recreation days, with a big prefect walking in 
front and another big prefect behind us. Then we 
walk six miles or so; that is, we keep on walking 
till most of the little tads aren’t able to stand any 
longer. We sit down, then, and rest for five min- 


38 


TOM FLA VFAIF. 


utes, before we start to walk back again. And while 
we are sitting down to rest, we are allowed to talk, 
you know." 

“Why, can’t you talk while you’re walking?’’ 

“ Not much,’’ said Harry emphatically. 

“And do you mean to say,’’ cried Tom excitedly, 
“that after resting five minutes, they’re all able to 
walk back again?’’ 

“I didn’t say any such thing.’’ 

“ Are they left behind, then ?’’ 

“No, indeed; they always have a big hay- wagon 
along; and when a fellow can’t walk they tumble 
him in. But he’s got to be mighty tired before that 
happens.’’ 

“So,’’ said Tom, after a moment’s reflection, 
“ that’s what you call fun?’’ 

“Certainly; it’s the jolliest kind of fun.’’ 

“ I suppose you fellows consider a funeral a good 
joke.’’ Tom did not know that he was sarcastic. 

“You’re talking now,’’ said Harry. “Whenever 
a boy dies we get off night studies.’’ 

“ Does a boy die often out there?’’ 

Harry ignored the literal meaning of this ques- 
tion as he answered: — 

“Well, no; not as many as we would like. Only 
two or three a month.’’ 

“What do they die of?’’ 

“They don’t die at all; they get killed by being 
hit over the head with a loaded cane.’’ 

Tom jumped up from his seat. 

“Take it back,’’ he said, with considerable fierce- 
ness. 

“ Take what back ?’’ inquired his astonished friend 
rising from his reclining position. 


TOM PLAYFAIR, 


39 


“You’ve been telling me yarns. Take it back, 
will you, or you and I aren’t partners any more.’’ 

“Well, I’m willing to take it back. I only did it 
for fun, just wanted to rattle you a little. You 
needn’t get mad about it.’’ 

Whither the conversation would have drifted it is 
impossible to say; for, as the train stopped just then 
at a station, Harry and Tom, with that natural curi- 
osity to see and know all things which is the proud 
prerogative of the American boy, dashed out upon 
the platform. So satisfied were they with this new 
position, that they resolved to keep it for a time 
indefinite, and accordingly squatted down on the 
side steps. They were not long there, however, 
when Father Teeman ordered them inside. 

“Harry,’’ suggested Tom when they had gained 
their proper positions, “let’s have a little fun.’’ 

“What are you thinking of now?’’ asked Harry. 

“ Let’s play conductor.’’ 

Harry glanced around the car dubiously. It was 
now after ten o’clock; and most of the boys, wearied 
with the excitement of the day, were asleep. 

“What’s the use,’’ he said, “nobody’s awake.’’ 

“ All the better.’’ 

“Well, how’ll we do it?’’ 

“ Did you see that lantern on the platform of the 
car?’' 

“ Yes.’’ 

“Well, that’s the idea. Come on.’’ 

Accompanied by Harry, Tom sallied forth, ob- 
tained possession of the lantern, and again walked 
into the car. Stealing up to a boy who was locked 
in slumber, he thrust the lantern into his face and, 
in as deep a voice as he could assume, said: — 


40 


TOM PLAYFAIR. 


“Tickets, please.” 

“ I haven’t got it,” cried the boy, jumping up and 
rubbing his eyes. I gave mine to Father — ” 

He broke off when he perceived the grinning 
face of an unknown boy behind the lantern, and in 
great rage he levelled a blow at the joker. Tom 
very naturally held up his hands to protect him- 
self, not taking into account that a lantern was 
in one of them. Crash! out went the light, 
down clattered the glass in a hundred fragments. 
He had guarded himself very well ; but the lantern 
was the worse for it. The youthful conductors stood 
aghast. 

“Let’s put the old thing back,” said Tom. 

“Yes; and we’d better hurry,” counselled Harry. 

But before they could carry out their purpose, the 
porter came hurrying in. 

“Young gemmen, who done tuk my lantern from 
the platform?” And as he spoke he glanced sternly 
at the discomfited culprits. 

“ I did,” said Tom. “ Here’s the old thing; looks 
like it’s exploded, don’t it?” 

“Oh, muffins!” cried the porter, “it’s ruined, and 
I’ll be discharged. You young bantams, what did 
you go and spile my lantern for?” 

Tom, remembering the words of Scripture that a 
soft answer turneth away wrath, put his hand' into 
his pocket, came out with it filled, and said: — 

“Here, old fellow, take some candy.” 

“Sah! I doesn’t want none of your candy. Un- 
less I can get a lantern at the next station I’m 
ruined. Can’t you pay for it? ’cos if you don’t, I’ll 
report you to the company.” 

“ How much do you want ?” asked Tom sadly. 


TOM PLAYFAIR. 


41 


“Foah dollars, sah,” said the negro, smiling, and 
muttering that he “ knowed they was gemmen. ” 

“ I’ll give you fifty cents,” said Tom. 

“ Does you want to ruin a poor man ?” 

“ How does a dollar suit you?” 

“Can’t afford it, sah, for less than two dollars.” 

“Well, I’ll give you a dollar and a half; and 
we’ll call it square.” 

“ Seein’ you’re such a puffick gemmen, I*"!! take it, 
sah.” And the negro went his way rejoicing in a 
neat bit of profit. 

“Boys,” said Father Teeman coming upon them 
from behind, “ suppose you go to sleep, or at least 
give the others a chance to rest. Get your chairs, 
and keep them.” 

“I don’t want any more fun to-night,” said Tom 
ruefully. 

“Neither do I,” said Harry. 

And the two innocents falling back in their chairs 
soon slept the sleep of the just. 


CHAPTER IV. 


TOM A RRIVES A T ST. MA URE'S A ND MA KES THE A CQUA INT- 
ANCE OF JOHN GREEN UNDER CIRCUMSTANCES NOT 
ENTIRELY GRATEFUL TO THAT INTERESTING CHAR- 
A CTER. 

“ OOK out, Tom; that’s Pawnee Creek.” 



L/ Tom thrust his head out of the window and saw 
a small picturesque stone-bridge passing over the 
ghost of a stream of water. He had hardly time to 
catch one glimpse of it, when his hat blew off, drop- 
ping straight down into the bed of Pawnee Creek. 
He drew in his head mournfully. 


42 


TOM FLA YFAIF. 


“I guess travelling is pretty expensive,” he 
growled. “ There’s twenty-five cents for caramels, 
one dollar and ten cents for railroad candy that 
made me sick, eighty-five cents for oranges, a dollar 
and a half to that nigger for his old lantern, and a 
new hat to Pawnee Creek.” 

“ Oh, you can get your hat back easily enough. 
It’s only a short walk from the College. Now, 
keep your eyes open one minute,” continued Harry, 
“See,” he added a few minutes later, “see that road 
leading along by the hedge? Many’s the time I’ve 
taken a walk on it. Holloa, there’s the good old 
white fence. Now we are passing the College 
grounds.” 

Tom had scarcely time to take a fair look at the 
fence, when the train came to a standstill in front 
of a large four-story brick building with the words 
“St. Maure’s College,” crowning its brow. 

Fronting the building was a spacious garden, 
diversified by several winding and shady walks; 
fronting the garden was a high white fence, and 
fronting the high white fence were some hundred 
and odd boys, with a few professors, awaiting the 
old scholars and new from the train. But Tom took 
no notice of all these things; his eyes, ears, feel- 
ings — his whole being seemed to be concentrated 
on the Professor standing nearest him. The long 
black cassock and cincture were something new to 
him; and so great was his astonishment that the 
loud cheers of the boys, the fierce whistling of the 
locomotive, the sharp cry of “All aboard,” followed 
by the departure of the train, might, as far as he 
was concerned, have happened at the other end of 
the world. 


TOM PLAYFAIR, 


43 


Harry, who had left him to shake hands with some 
of his friends, found him,a few minutes later, stand- 
ing in exactly the same position. 

“Wake up, Tom,” he cried, slapping his friend 
on the back. 

This touch snapped the charm. 

“ I say, Harry,” he at length burst out, “ for good- 
ness’ sake, look at that fellow with the gown on. 
Isn’t he a sight ?” 

“ Oh, what a greenhorn you are!” said Harry, with 
an easy air of superiority; “that’s not a gown, it’s a 
cassock, and the man in it is your boss: he’s the 
prefect of the small boys.” 

Tom’s face expressed about two closely written 
pages of astonishment. 

“ Does he always wear that — that thing?” 

- “Yes, come on up, and I’ll introduce you.” 

“But does he really wear it all the time?” 

“That’s what I said.” 

“Gracious! I’m glad of that. I’d like to see him 
catch me, if I want to run. Pshaw! he looks for all 
the world like an old lady.” 

“You’ll find out, pretty soon, whether he can run 
or not,” retorted Harry a little sharply; “and as to 
being an old lady, you’ll change your mind mighty 
soon if you try any of your tricks on him. Mr. 
Middleton,” he continued addressing himself to the 
subject of these remarks, “ here’s another St. Louis 
boy, my friend Tommy Playfair.” 

The prefect, with a smile and a word of welcome, 
cordially shook Tom’s hand, at the same time be- 
stowing such a clear, penetrating look upon the 
chubby upturned face that, as Tom afterwards de- 
clared, “ Mr. Middleton seemed to see clear through 


44 


TOM J^LA YFAIR. 


his sailor shirt way back to his shirt-collar on the 
other side.” 

“You’re a wild colt, I suppose.” 

“Not so very wild, sir,” said Tom in his gentlest 
tones. 

“Is he lively as you, Harry?” asked the prefect. 

“ I’m not going to be wild any more, Mr. Middle- 
ton,” returned Harry in all meekness. 

Indeed the subdued air that had come over Harry, 
now that he stood in the presence of his prefect, was 
something wonderful. 

“Well, Harry,” continued Mr. Middleton, “you 
may take care of your new friend yourself for the 
present ; I see some new-comers over there who ap- 
pear to be very timid and ill at ease — they are quite 
lost.” And he hastened away to do the honors to 
the five Jones boys. 

Tom and Harry, left to themselves, sauntered lei- 
surely up the garden- walk, the former all eyes for his 
new surroundings. 

“ What’s that long, low, frame shanty to our right ?” 
asked Tom. 

“That’s the infirmary; when you get sick you go 
there and lay up for repairs. ” 

“It looks kind of snug.” 

“Yes; but when a fellow’s getting just well enough 
to enjoy the jam and buttered toast, they turn him 
out. This large four-story brick building in front 
of us is the house where the fathers and prefects have 
their rooms. The lower floor of it on the east side, 
though, is the refectory for us little boys. You know 
there are two yards, two refectories, two study-halls, 
and two wash-rooms and four dormitories, so as to 
keep little boys and big boys apart; the large room 


TOA/ PLAYFAIR. 


45 


just above the refectory is our study-hall; now come 
on over to our washroom and we’ll wash and brush 
up before dinner.” 

They turned to the right on reaching the railed 
steps leading up to the brick building, and passed 
between the infirmary on one side and on the other a 
substantial three-story structure of stone, which, as 
Harry informed Tom, was the class-room building. 

Continuing straight on, they passed through a 
double gate — generally ajar, by the way — and found 
themselves in an open play-ground about four hun- 
dred feet long by two hundred wide. 

‘^This is the small boys’ yard,” volunteered Harry. 

“Yes?” queried Tom plaintively. “Does a fellow 
have to stay around here all the time?” 

“ All the time, if he doesn’t behave himself. But 
come on; let’s hurry in before the rush.” 

Beside the gate, at their right, and next to the 
class-room building, stood a two-story frame house, 
the upper floor of which was a dormitory and the 
lower a wash-room. 

On entering, a novel scene presented itself to Tom’s 
eyes. With the exception of one plain and two shovel- 
board tables, and a few benches, the main body of 
the room was devoid of all furniture or other obstruc- 
tion. But lining the four wails ; all around was a 
series of small boxes with hinged doors, each box di- 
vided into an upper and lower partition, used for the 
keeping of soap, brushes, toilet articles, and the like; 
and above the boxes were scattered towels, soap, and 
tin basins in all manner of ungraceful confusion; the 
towels, for the most part, dangling from a water-pipe, 
ornamented with here and there a faucet. At the 
time that our two friends entered there were a few 


46 


TOM PLA YFAIP. 


boys in the room, engaged at their ablutions, while 
a prefect, note-book in hand, was giving each boy on 
his entrance one of the many boxes. 

“ Howdo, Mr. Phelan,” said Harry, tipping his hat 
and shaking hands with his superior. 

“Why, Harry! So here you are again.” 

“Yes, Mr. Phelan, I’m like a bad penny.” 

“In one sense, yes,” said Mr. Phelan; “ but you’ r- 
too modest. I’m delighted to see you again. And 
I see you have a new friend. Who is this?” 

“ This is Tommy Playfair, Mr. Phelan. And I say, 
can’t I have my old box again, same as last year — it 
was near that window, you know — and can’t Tom 
Playfair have the one next to me ? I’m the only boy 
here that he knows.” 

Mr. Phelan, who had, in the mean time, taken Tom’s 
hand with a smile of welcome, assented to Master 
Harry’s requests. 

“Thank you, sir,” said Harry effusively; and he 
conducted Tom to box number twenty-nine, near the 
window he had pointed out in the making of his 
petition. 

“ This is number twenty-nine — my box, Tom — and 
here’s your’s next to mine, number thirty.” 

But Tom was not satisfied. 

“ That little bit of a box for me!” he exclaimed. 

“Why, of course,” Harry responded. “You don’t 
want the earth, do you ?” 

Without making any answer to this important ques- 
tion, Tom walked over to the prefect. 

“I say, Mr. Phelan, can’t I have another box, be- 
sides the one you’ve given me?” 

“ Why ? What have you to say against the box P 
gave you ?” 


TOM PLA YFAIR, 


47 


“Oh, that’s all right! but I want two boxes.” 

“ Indeed! what do you want two boxes for?” 

“Well, you see, I want one for my books, you 
know.” 

“Oh!” said the prefect, breaking into a smile, 
“you’ll get a desk in the study-hall for them!” 

“ Oh ! that’s it — is it ?” and Tom, satisfied with this 
information, rejoined Harry Quip, who with his eyes 
bulging out of his head had been watching Tom’s 
proceedings in utmost astonishment. 

In the mean time the wash-room had been rapidly 
filling. Every other moment witnessed the appear- 
ance of new faces. Among those that entered, some, 
notably the Jones boys, were timid beyond descrip- 
tion; others, like Tom, were quite tranquil and self- 
possessed; others again were rather bold and un- 
doubtedly noisy. This latter class aroused Tom’s 
curiosity. 

“ I say, Harry, ” he inquired, “ who are those fellows 
in here that talk so loud, and lift up their shoulders 
when they walk around, and go on as if they owned 
the whole place ?” 

“Sh! don’t talk so loud, Tom,” said Harry, with 
unaffected seriousness. “They’re a few of the old 
boys. You see they’re perfectly at home. They’re 
apt to be pretty hard on new-comers.” 

“Are all the old boys that way?” was Tom’s next 
question. 

“Well, not all. But a great many are.” 

These questions and answers afford considerable 
insight into the economy of boarding-school life. 
We hear and read a great deal about the easy confi- 
dence, — nay boldness — of old servants, old clerks, 
and the like; but what are they all compared to the 


48 ■ TOM P^4,yji4M> ' 

old student at boarding-school ? As a new-comer, 
he may be the most timid, the most meek of mortals. 
The first few weeks of his changed life he may rarely 
speak above a whisper. But with the rolling months, 
as he picks up a friend or so, evidences of ease and 
natural bearing insinuate themselves into his address. 
At the end of the term he departs, it may be, a quiet, 
gentlemanly boy. But, vacation over, lo ! he returns 
as one of the owners of earth and sky — with all the as- 
surance and arrogance attributed by the American 
press to a plumber in mid-winter. Every look, 
every tone, every gesture proclaims in terms unmis- 
takable that he is an old boy; that he knows more 
about life in any phase than a new-comer; that he 
is up to every conceivable turn of school-boy fortune; 
that a new boy, how naturally gifted soever, is but 
an inferior sort of creature ; and that, in fine, there 
is nothing, humanly speaking, in the heavens above 
or the earth beneath, or in the waters under the earth, 
that can compare with that supremest of mortals — 
the old boy. It would be an injustice, however, to 
let the reader suppose that all old boys belong to this 
class. Not so ; quite a goodly number are as polite, 
unpretending, gentlemanly, and sensible as the most 
refined new-comer. 

Johnny Green was an old boy of the former 
class. 

For the last five or six minutes he had been mak- 
ing himself very conspicuous in the wash-room, by 
talking in a raised voice — whenever the prefect was 
out of hearing — of the way he had “ got ahead of the 
old man,” as he irreverently termed his father, of the 
great and disgusting number of “ new kids” that had 
already appeared in the wash-room, and of their un- 


TOM PLAYFAIR, 


49 


commonly disagreeable appearance, which Master 
Green put down as being “ rather green.” 

Having compjeted his toilet, which consisted 
chiefly, and indeed almost exclusively, in so arrang- 
ing his hair as to conceal almost entirely his freckled 
forehead, John Green stationed himself at the narrow 
door of the wash-room, where he amused himself, at 
such odd times as the attending prefect’s preoccupy- 
ing duties allowed, by tripping up various little new- 
comers, as they chanced to leave or enter. 

Tom and Harry were now going out; and Green 
was anxiously awaiting his new victim. Harry 
advanced first, and, being an old boy, was allowed to 
pass unmolested; then came Tom, who, by the way, 
had been watching Master Green’s little practical 
joke for fully five minutes. As Tom was verging 
upon the threshold. Green put out his foot; suddenly 
a howl arose from the bully’s mouth. 

“Why, good gracious!” exclaimed Tom, turning 
on his steps, “did I walk on your foot? But really, 
what a big foot you’ve got!” 

“You wretched little fool,” roared the bully, who 
was now hopping about with a combination of earn- 
estness and liveliness, exhilarating to see; “you’ve 
stepped on at least five of my corns.” 

“That’s too bad,” Tom made answer, with his 
face screwed into its most serious expression. “ But 
all the farmers say there’s going to be a large corn 
crop this year.” 

With this consolatory reflection he passed on arm 
in arm with Harry Quip, who was struggling, but 
with sorry success, to keep a straight face, leaving the 
discomfited Master Green to continue or conclude his 
dance as he pleased 
4 


50 


TOM PLAYFAIR. 


Adjoining the end of the wash-room there was — 
and is yet, doubtless — a small shed, under whose 
protecting cover were a turning-pole, a pair of par- 
allel bars, a few other articles of gymnastics, and a 
line of benches. Upon one of these latter our two 
friends seated themselves, calmly awaiting the wel- 
come sound of the dinner bell. But the calm — how 
history repeats itself! — proved to be the forerunner 
of a storm. 

Scarcely had they composed themselves in their 
seats, when John Green, who was wearied of dancing, 
and was anxious to meet Tom in a place beyond sight 
of all prefects, turned the corner. Leisurely leaning 
his head on his left arm, his left arm on one of the 
parallel bars, and placing his right hand on his hip 
— he had made a special study of this special attitude 
during vacation — he fastened a stern gaze upon Tom. 
Notwithstanding, our hero seemed to be oblivious of 
Green’s presence. 

“I say,” began the bully, when he realized that 
both pose and gaze had shot wide of the mark, “ are 
there any more like you at home?” 

“I don’t know, I’m sure,” answered Tom with 
suavity; “but if you wish. I’ll write home and 
ask.” 

At this retort three or four new-comers who were 
sitting near by, and had been gazing about listlessly, 
broke into a titter. The bully glared at them fero- 
ciously, whereupon their faces fell into length again, 
and a far-away look — the symptom of home-sickness 
— came into their eyes. Harry had laughed too; 
but his laugh met with no rebuke ; he was an old boy, 
and in consequence was entitled to the privilege. 

Encouraged by the power of his eye. Master Green 


TOM PLAYFAIR. 51 

turned it in full force upon Tom, and again addressed 
himself to that unterrified youth. 

“ What’s your name, Sonny ?” 

Tom’s face assumed a troubled expression; he 
pressed his hand over his forehead and through his 
hair — then, after a pause, made answer: — 

“ Can’t remember it just now. My memory’s bad 
when the weather’s warm. It’s an awful long name. 
It took the priest over five minutes to get it in, the 
day I was baptized.” 

Another titter from the listeners, and a loud laugh 
from Harry. But Green was too astonished at the 
coolness of the new-comer to check this outburst. 

“I suppose,” continued Green, with excessive 
irony, “you think you’re funny?” 

“ I guess I do,” answered Tom blandly. “ All the 
family say I am; and when I was home they’d never 
let me go to funerals, for fear I’d make ’em laugh 
in the solemn parts.” 

A prolonged giggle and a louder laugh. 

“ You’re terribly smart,” exclaimed the withering 
Green, who, forgetting his pose, was now quite stiff 
and bolt upright. 

“Smart!” echoed Tom, “why, now you’re hitting 
the nail right on the head. The fellows at the school 
I ’tended last year said they wouldn’t come back if 
I did, because I always carried off all the premiums; 
and that’s why I came here.” 

“ You’d better shut your mouth or I’ll hit you one,” 
vociferated the bully, drowning the laughter evoked 
by this last retort; and as he spoke he pulled up the 
arms of his coat, revealing in the act a pair of cuffs 
with many-flashing cuff-buttons. 

“ Oh ! if you’re going to strike,” pursued Tom with 


52 


/ 


TOM TLA YFAIR. 


all the placidity of a midspring zephyr, “I think I 
had better shut my mouth, or you might poke your 
fist do\^n my throat, and then I’d be sick for life.” 

In tl\[^(mick rejoinder there was to the spectators 
gazing iipo^Green’s clenched fists a certain obvious- 
ness of ’^omt; consequently it aroused mirth in all 
the listeners and rage in the heart of the bully. 

“You’re a coward!” he foamed. 

“That’s you say,” said Tom. 

“ And a sneak.” 

“That’s vfhdit you say.” 

“ And a mule thief.” 

“ I never stole you.” 

This was too much for Green; he made a spring 
at Tom. But Harry caught his arm. 

“Hold on. Green,” said Harry. “Just take a boy 
of your size.” 

Harry and Tom, it should be remarked, were each 
a year or two younger than Green. 

“ Let go of me, will you?” shouted the bully. 

“ No ; I wont.” 

Suddenly John Green became very quiet, jumped 
upon the parallel bars, and began swinging up and 
down; Mr. Middleton had just turned the corner. 
Harry broke into a whistle, while Tom maintained 
his blandness to the end. Before hostilities could be 
renewed the bell rang for dinner. 

“ You took him up in great shape, Tom,” observed 
Harry on the way to the refectory. “ Where did you 
get that cool way of saying things?” 

“ Oh, I used to have a great many rows with my 
uncle; and he got me so’s I couldn’t get excited.” 

“All the same, you’d better keep your eyes open. 
Green will pay you back for your talk before long. 


TOM PLAYFAIR. 


53 


Anyhow, if I’m around, or any decent old fellow, 
you’ll be all right. He’s a coward and a mean boy, 
and if he caught you alone he’d be sure to take it 
out on you. But he wont tackle us together.” 

They were now at the door of the refectory; as 
each student entered Mr. Middleton assigned him his 
place at one of the ten tables, each of these being 
laid for twelve. 

To their regret, Harry and Tom were placed at 
different tables. Dinner passed off quietly. Before 
thanks had been returned, Mr. Middleton announced 
that each boy should, immediately on leaving the 
refectory, go to the room of the prefect of studies, 
where he would learn his class and obtain a list of 
the books which he should procure from the procura- 
tor, or (being translated) the buyer. 

Tom and Harry, who contrived to have their inter- 
view with the prefect of studies at the same time, 
were both assigned to the class of Rudiments — a class 
where the student is prepared to enter upon the study 
of Latin. They managed to get their books about 
the same time, too; and so, to their undisguised de- 
light, Mr.- Middleton appointed them seats next each 
other in the hall of studies. 

“Tom, this is just glorious!” exclaimed Harry, 
as they emerged from the study room. “We’re in 
the same class; and we’re right next each other for 
studies. But look here! — while you were getting 
your books, and I was outside waiting for you, 
I heard something. Do you know the first thing 
Green’s going to do to you ?” 

“No; what?” 

“Why, the first chance he gets to-day he’s going 
to pin a paper on your back with 


54 


TOM PLAYFAIR, 


‘KICK ME 
I AM A FOOL’ 

on it. He’s waiting his chance now in the yard, I 
think.” 

Tom stood still, and gave himself up for a few sec- 
onds to reflection; then he resumed his walk and 
observed : — 

“ We’ll fix him, if he tries it, Harry. I’ll tell you 
what: we’ll let him go pretty far with his joke. I 
wont notice him. But when he gets behind me, and 
is pinning it on, you take out your handkerchief — 
will you? Of course you’ll be standing in front and 
facing me.” 

“What’ll you do?” 

“You’ll see. He wont enjoy the joke very much 
anyhow.” 

No sooner had the boys entered the yard, than 
they noticed that John Green was eyeing them 
closely. 

“ He’s waiting his chance,” whispered Harry. 

“Just so,” answered Tom. “Say, let’s go down 
by the hand-ball alley.” 

Harry acquiesced, and both made their way to the 
further end of the yard. Harry, with his hands in his 
pockets, leaned against the body of the alley so as to 
take in the whole playground, while Tom, also hands 
in pockets, stood facing Harry, commanding a viev? 
of nothing save what was included in the two walls of 
the alley. Green, in the mean time, was following in 
their wake with stealthy steps; even Tom could di- 
vine this from the expression on Harry’s countenance. 
At length Green had secured a suitable position for 
pinning on the placard. He stooped. Forthwith 
Harry drew out his handkerchief. 


TOM PLA YFAIR. 


55 


‘‘Talking of jumping,” exclaimed Tom at once, 
“how’s this?” and he gave a sharp backward- kick 
with his right foot. 

Green received the full force of this on his shins — 
thetenderest part of him, perhaps, by the law of com- 
pensation; for his head was within a little of being 
actually impregnable both as to blows and as to 
ideas. 

On the moment. Green testified his presence by a 
prolonged howl. 

“ Good gracious!” Tom exclaimed, turning around 
and addressing Green, who with both hands was hold- 
ing one knee, and hopping enthusiastically with the 
only foot he had at liberty : “ Why how in the world 

did you come to be behind me? You’re terribly 
unlucky — aint you ?” 

A crowd of boys, who had been watching Green’s 
ill-timed attempt to fasten on the placard, were now 
shouting and laughing, as they hurried down the yard 
to take in, in fuller detail, the victim’s lively and 
novel dance. 

“ Does it hurt ?” asked Tom compassionately, as he 
picked up the placard, which Green had allowed to 
fall to the ground. 

“Does it hurt?” bawled Green, suspending his 
dance to give full effect to his answer. “Oh no! it 
doesn’t hurt at all. It’s awful pleasant, you fool!” 
And with this burst of eloquence, he resumed his 
dancing. 

“I say, what’s this?” enquired Tom, holding the 
placard at arm’s length, and scanning it critic- 
ally. “ Is this your paper ?” 

“Yes; and I wish you and that paper were in 
Halifax.” 


56 


TOM PLAYFAIR. 


The intense devotion of this sentiment was beyond 
doubt. 

“ But,” pursued Tom, “you’ve got ‘kick me’ writ- 
ten on it. So you’ve got what you want. And are 
you really and truly a fool ?” 

This question so angered Green that he lost sight 
of his pain. Releasing his injured leg, he made a 
savage rush at Tom. But this time, too, his inten- 
tions were frustrated. George Keenan, a boy who 
had attended St. Maure’s for several years, and who, 
judging by his modesty, didn’t seem to know it, 
caught the aggressor’s arm with a grip which elicited 
another howl. 

“Let him alone, Green; he served you right. 
You’ve no business to be picking on boys under your 
size every chance you get. And look here, — you’d 
better not touch him when John Donnell or I am 
around.” And George walked away. 

The bully was too crestfallen to face his fellow- 
students. Scowling and shame-faced, he hobbled 
off to the infirmary to get his leg “ painted ” with 
iodine. 

George Keenan, who has here entered upon the 
scene, merits a few words. He was a model boy ; not 
the kind of a model boy that figures in many tales for 
the young; but such a model as you may expect to 
meet with occasionally, nay — God be thanked for 
it — oftentimes in real life. 

At baseball, running, handball, football, and all 
manner of athletic games, no one was more skilled 
than George. He was small, undergrown for his 
years, and slightly made; still his strength was un- 
questioned. And yet no one had ever known George 
to exert his strength for mean or low purposes, no 


TOM PLAYFAIR. 


57 


one had ever known him to use his influence for aught 
save what was ennobling. He was everybody’s friend 
— with him the bad were, for the nonce, good; and 
the good were better. Withal, he was cheerful, jo-, 
cose, and a bit of a wag. He made his way through 
life with the brightness and wholesomeness of a sun- 
beam. Nor is George, among the general run of 
boarding-school students, an isolated character. 

In every well-conducted boarding school there are 
hearts as warm and minds as noble. These boys 
are themselves the least self-conscious of mortals. 
Though they know it not, they are doing work, and 
good work, too, for the Lord and Saviour whom in 
the nobility of their hearts they love with manly 
tenderness. 


CHAPTER V. 

IN WHICH TOM IS PERSUADED TO GO TO SLEEP. 

N O doubt many of my readers have been asking 
themselves what manner of hero is Tom Play- 
fair. Couldn’t the author have selected a better, or 
at least a more refined character ? This Tom is bold, 
given to slang, rather forward, self-willed, and — but 
stay, reader, let us get in a word. We throw up our 
hands, and grant the full force and truth of all these 
naughty adjectives. Indeed there are faults, and 
great faults, to be found in Tom. There are many 
flaws in the crystal. But what then? These little 
flaws, after all, are not irremediable. Tom may be 
a real gem — even if it be that the gem is in the rough. 
Some of his flaws, indeed, are simply untrimmed vir- 


TOM PLAYFAIR. 


58 

tues. His boldness is an exaggerated manliness — 
certainly it has nothing of the bully in its ring; his 
slang is that ineffectual struggle for humor so notice- 
able in many young people; and in them, at least — we 
speak not for maturer sinners in this line — pardona- 
ble; his forwardness is the exaggeration of what we 
all love and hold fast to — American independence. 
But enough on the score of excuses. Let us hope 
that the edges may be rounded ; that the gem in the 
rough may sparkle unto the admiration of many, that 
the exaggeration of American virtues may be subdued 
to that golden mean which we all admire so much 
and practise so little. 

Tom’s dialogue with the shin-worried Green, while 
drawing our hero into prominent notice, gained him 
a host of admirers and a few friends. 

As he and Harry were taking a stroll about the 
yard, shortly after Green’s departure in quest of that 
boarding-school-boy panacea, iodine, he was accosted 
by a little lad in knickerbockers, his expression a 
mixture of timidity and wistfulness. 

“ Well, my son,” said Tom, who was about half an 
inch taller than the stranger, “ what can I do for 
you ?” 

“ I’m so glad you didn’t let that Green get ahead 
of you. He’s mean ; he pinched me for nothing, and 
asked me whether my mother knew I was out — and — 
and I don’t want to stay here. My baby sister” — 
here the little man began to cry — “ wont know me 
when I get home.” 

“He’s homesick — got it bad,” whispered Harry in 
a kindly tone. 

“Here,” said Tom; “take some candy,” 

The youngster accepted the candy, and tried to 


TOM PLAYFAIR. 59 

cheer up; he ceased crying, though he gave vent at 
intervals to deep sighs. 

“Come and sit down here,” continued Tom. 
“Now, what’s your name?’’ 

“ Joe Whyte. My pa is a doctor in Hot Springs, 
and he’s got lots of money, and rides round in a horse 
and buggy.” 

“ It must be fun riding round in a horse,” observed 
Harry. “ Does he do that often ?” 

Joe relented into a smile. 

“Haven’t you any friends here?” pursued Tom. 

“No; and I want to go home,” sobbed Joe, in a 
fatal relapse. “The boys are all mean here; and 
nothing is good.” 

“Oh, you don’t know ’em well enough yet,” said 
Tom; and he added with ingenuous modesty, “ Harry 
and myself are good fellows. You just wait, Joe, 
till you grow up to be a man, and then you wont have 
to go to boarding-school, you know. Then your papa 
will die, and you’ll have all his money, and go riding 
round in a horse and — ” 

“Boo-00!” interrupted Joe, appalled by this ill- 
directed bit of word-painting. “ I don’t want my 
papa to die.” 

“ Don’t get so excited,” put in Harry. “ He isn’t 
going to die now.” 

“I don’t want him to die at all,” blubbered the 
wretched victim of homesickness. “ I want to go 
home right now, and see him and mamma and Sissy 
and little Jane and all of ’em.” 

“I tell you what,” said Tom; “ let’s be friends, 
and then you wont be lonesome. What do you say, 
Joe ?” 

With one hand rubbing his eyes, Joe extended the 


6o 


TOM TLA VTA IT. 


Other first to Tom, then to Harry. Each of these 
young gentlemen shook it warmly. 

Master Joe’s case is a fair specimen of the malady 
which attacks almost invariably the new boy — home- 
sickness. Like measles, whooping-cough, or sea- 
sickness, few escape it and, still true to the likeness, 
it seizes upon its victim with various degrees of ma- 
lignity. Under an ordinary attack, the patient feels 
fully convinced that life outside the home-circle is 
not worth living. Games, meals, even candies lose 
their zest. Like the quality of mercy, homesickness 
is “ mightiest in the mightiest ” ; the large boy when 
afflicted with it is a piteous sight indeed. 

After five o’clock supper, the students took recrea- 
tion till six, when a bell summoned them to the hall 
of studies. Here they were at liberty to sort and 
examine their books, and write their parents assurance 
of their safe arrival. 

Tom on entering noticed that the older boys, in- 
stead of seating themselves at once, were all stand- 
ing in silence. Following their implicit guidance, 
he too stood beside his desk, and fixed an inquiring 
look upon Mr. Middleton, who from a raised platform 
commanded a view of the entire study hall. 

Whilst Tom was still wondering why the old boys 
were so slow about sitting down, the prefect made 
the sign of the cross and recited the “ Vem Sancte 
Spiritus." This beautiful prayer concluded, all ad- 
dressed themselves to their work. 

Instead of beginning to study, Tom sat for some 
time curiously watching the movements of those 
about him. The old boys, with scarce an exception, 
were inscribing their respective names in their new 
books, the new-comers were rummaging in their desks 


TOM PLA YFAIR, 


6 


in a vain attempt at appearing easy and self-possessed. 
Mr. Middleton seemed to have his eyes on every one. 

Presently a professor entered the study hall, and 
Mr. Tliddleton retired. This professor was the reg- 
ular study-keeper. 

Tom gazed at the new official for some moments, 
and then turned to Harry. 

“ I say, what’s the name of that man?’* 

“Sh!” said Harry. 

Throwing a look of disgust at his admonitor, Tom 
turned to Joe Whyte, who sat at his leftside, and re- 
peated the question. 

“I don’t know,” returned Joe. 

“ Say, what are you going to do this hour?” 

“ I’m goin’ to write home and ask them to take me 
away from this place.” 

“Oh, don’t be in a hurry about that!” whispered 
Tom; “after a few days you will begin to know the 
fellows better and — ” Just then a hand was laid 
upon his arm, and Tom on lifting his eyes saw the 
study-keeper before him, looking rather stern than 
otherwise. 

“Keep silence in here, Playfair,” he said, “no 
talking; take out your books and paper and go to 
work.” 

“Say, Mister, how did you come to know my 
name?” 

The study-keeper bit his lip to restrain a smile and 
moved to another part of the hall. The secret of his 
knowing Tom’s name was very simple. 

A map is made of each boy’s place in the study- 
hall, wash-room, refectory, dormitory, and chapel. 
One glance at the map will inform the presiding 
officer whether each boy beat his post, and, in conse- 


62 


TOM PLAYFAIR. 


quence of this system, a boy cannot absent himself 
from college for any period beyond an hour at the 
most without being missed. 

Thus admonished, Tom opened his desk, took out 
his writing materials, and after great effort, much 
blotting of paper, soiling of fingers, and intellectual 
travail, delivered himself of the following letter: — 


St. Mars College, 


Sept. 5, 188-. 

My dear Aunt Jane: 

I take my pen in hand to let you know that i am well, hope- 
ing this leaves you the same. St. Mars is a pretty jolly sort 
of a place; and i am not one bit home sick; lots of new kids 
are. Tell Jeff Thomas I will write to him soon. Who is tak- 
in care of my pijins? Tell papa my love. Is my rooster with 
the long tale all rite ? My money is nearly all gone. I had an 
axident on the car comin here, and I had to pay the nigger 
porter for an old lantern. Good bye. I am goin to study rite 
hard. Your lovely nephew, 

Thomas-Playfair. 


While he was addressing the envelope destined to 
carry away this choice bit of literature, he felt some 
one poking him in the back. On turning, he per- 
ceived a hand extended from under the desk behind 
him, holding a bit of paper. Tom received the note. 
It read as follows: 


Mister Playfair: 

Say will you fite me at recess, behind the old church bilding. 

Yrs., 

John Green. 

P. S. You’re a sneak. 

To which Tom elaborately replied: 

Dear Mister Green: 

How did you come to be called green? and why do the boys 
call you crazy ? How is your knee ? does it hurt much ? You 


TOM PLAYFAIR. 


63 


don’t spell well. Fite is wrong; it ought to be fight. You are 
biger than i am and older. Insted of fighting you ought to 
study your speling book. Fightin’ is low and i don’t want to 
and you ought to be ashamed of yourself. When you rite home 
give my love to your papa and mamma. 

Yrs., 

Thomas Playfair. 

After passing this note, he took a leisurely survey 
of the study-hall, stretched his arms; then concluded 
to go out. Taking up his cap, which, by the way, he 
had borrowed from Harry Quip on losing his own, 
he walked toward the door. Just as he was opening 
it, his progress was arrested by the study-keeper’s 
voice. 

“ Playfair, go back to your seat.” This in a very 
imperative tone. 

“I’m going out, sir,” said Tom, pausing with his 
hand on the door-knob to impart this information. 

“ Go back to your seat.” 

With a look of patient unmerited persecution Tom 
returned to his place, casting wrathful glances on the 
way at several who were grinning at his mistake. 

A little later the bell rang; and all repaired to the 
yard to enjoy a few minutes of recess. 

This over, they recited night prayers in common, 
and retired to their dormitories for the night. 

The novel sight of a hundred boys undressing as 
one struck Tom asbeingrather funny than otherwise. 
Indeed he was so absorbed in a humorous survey of 
this spectacle that he stood stock still, grinning 
broadly and incessantly for some minutes. A hand 
upon his arm called him down from his humorous 
heights. It was Mr. Middleton. 

“Playfair,” he whispered, “have you anything on 
hand just now?” 


64 


TOM PLAYFAIR. 


“No, sir,” answered Tom, wondering what would 
come next. 

“Well, then, you had better undress, and get to 
bed.” And Mr. Middleton resumed the saying of his 
beads, as he continued his route up and down the 
passage formed between the beds. 

“Pshaw!” growled Tom. “A fellow can’t look 
cross-eyed here, but he gets hauled up for it. I don’t 
see any harm in looking around.” And sadly he 
proceeded to pull off his sailor-shirt. He had just 
succeeded in getting this garment free of one arm, 
when he perceived Harry Quip some ten or eleven 
beds further off. Harry caught his glance and smiled. 
The smile brought sunshine back into Tom’s heart; 
suspending further operations on the sailor-shirt, he 
playfully put the thumb of his right hand to his nose, 
and made the popular signal with his fingers. 

Instead of taking this friendly and jocose demon- 
stration in the spirit in which it was given, Harry’s 
face lengthened into dismay, while his eyes glanced 
apprehensively in the direction of Mr. Middleton. 
Tom, following the movement of Harry’s eyes, turned 
and — yes! there it was again — saw Mr. Middleton 
bearing down upon him. 

“Well, I’m switched,” he thought, as he slipped 
out of his clothes with marvellous speed, “ if he isn’t 
makin’ for me again.” And leaping into bed he 
buried his face in the pillow. 

“Young man,” whispered Mr. Middleton, bending 
down over him, “ we want no levity in this dormi- 
tory. ” 

“ No what, sir?” 

“ No levity.” 

“What’s that, sir?” 


TOM PLA YFAIR. 


65 


“ Sh ! don’t talk so loud. I mean you mustn’t talk, 
whisper, laugh, or make signs. Do you understand 
me?” 

“Yes; but—” 

“That’ll do; go to sleep now; and if you have 
any objections to make I’ll hear you in the morn- 

• _ ff 

mg. 

“He’s a nice one,” grumbled Tom to his pillow. 
“ He wont give a fellow any chance to explain.” 

Two minutes later he was sleeping a dreamless 
sleep. 


CHAPTER VI. 

m WHICH GREEN AND TOM RUN A RACE WHICH PROVES 
DISASTROUS TO BOTH. 

C LANG — clang — clang — clang — clang! 

“ Halloa ! what’s the matter ? ” cried Tom, in the 
midst of this clatter, as he jumped out of bed and 
rubbed his eyes. 

The cause of the din was a large, iron-tongued 
bell, which Mr. Middleton was ringing right lustily. 

Tom looked about him; all the students, with the 
exception, of course, of several of the old boys, who 
were quite accustomed to this unearthly sound, were 
up and dressing. 

“ It's a little too early for me, ’’thought Tom; and, 
satisfied that the horrid bell had become silent, he 
turned in again. He was peacefully dozing off when 
a hand was laid upon him. 

” Playfair, did you hear the bell ?” 

“ Did I ? I should think I did ! That’s all right, 

5 


66 


TOM PLAYFAIR. 


Mr. Middleton; but I guess I don’t care about get- 
ting up just now.” 

The sentence was barely out of his mouth, when, 
as it appeared to him, there was a mild form of earth- 
quake in the vicinity; and before he could realize 
that anything had happened at all, he was sprawling 
on the floor with his mattress on top. 

“I say, what did you do that for?” he sputtered; 
but Mr. Middleton was already half-way down the 
aisle. 

“ If that’s the way they treat a fellow the first day, 
what’ll they do on the last ?” he murmured. “ I don’t 
think this school is much account anyhow.” 

On rising, the boys were allowed half an hour for 
washing and dressing. Then came Mass, followed 
by studies and breakfast. 

At nine o’clock — on this particular day — they had 
what is technically termed Lectio brevis ” ; that is, 
the teachers of the respective classes gave their 
boys a short talk, and appointed lessons for the next 
day. 

Tom was mildly surprised, and a trifle dismayed, 
when he discovered that his teacher for the year was 
none other than Mr. Middleton. But after listening 
in silence for some minutes to his professor’s opening 
speech, he concluded that perhaps things might not 
be so bad. 

The Lectio brevis'" was compressed into an hour, 
and the students had the rest of the day free. 

Shortly after dinner Harry Quip, accompanied by 
a strange boy, approached Tom. 

“Tom, here’s a particular friend of mine, Willie 
Ruthers; and I’m sure he’ll be a great friend of 
yours.” 


TOM TLA VTA IT. 67 

Willie and Tom shook hands, while Will murmured 
sheepishly, “ Happy to see you ” 

“ Wont you take some candy?” inquired Tom. 

The candy was gratefully received, and the friend- 
ship of the two was firmly based. 

” Have you been out walking yet?” asked Willie. 

“No; and that’s a fact ; Harry, we ought to go and 
get that hat of mine at Pawnee Creek.” 

Obtaining permission from the prefect, they set 
out on their walk along the railroad track, and in 
course of time discovered the hat partially embedded 
in the mud. When on their return they came near 
the college, Harry proposed that they should pass 
through the “Blue-grass.” The “Blue-grass” is a 
favorite resort of the boys. It lies just beyond the 
college yard, and is well shaded with large, graceful 
pine trees. 

It chanced on this particular day that the only oc- 
cupants of the “Blue-grass” were John Green and 
three lads of similar taste. 

Green caught sight of our trio from afar. 

“Oh, I say, boys,” he exclaimed, “ here comes the 
funny man. Come on here, you young sneak,” he 
added, addressing himself to Tom, “and we’ll settle 
our accounts.” 

“Tom,” whispered Harry earnestly, “let’s run; 
those fellows with him wont let me or Willie help 
you; and Green has been acting like a bully since 
he’s come back from vacation.” 

“ I’m not going to run, unless I’ve got to,” answered 
Tom; and he walked straight on, intending to pass 
by Green and his following. But Green put himself 
squarely in the trio’s path. 

“ Where are you going, funny man ?” he inquired. 


68 


TOM PLAYFAIR, 


“ I’m going to St. Maure’s this year. How’s your 
shin ?” 

“You’ve got to fight me, you sneak,” pursued 
Green, reddening with anger at the retort. 

“But I don’t want to fight, you see.” 

“ I don’t care a cent what you want. Put up your 
hands. I’ll teach you to sass me. You can’t get 
out of it!” 

“Can’t I though? Catch me,” and as Tom spoke 
he dashed away in the direction of Pawnee Creek. 

It took some seconds for Green to realize this sud- 
den and utterly unexpected change of front; then 
with a shout of wrath he gave chase. 

Before leaving home, it may be explained, Tom 
had made a solemn promise to his Aunt Meadow not 
to engage at fisticuffs under any circumstances. 

He was a good runner for his age; but he lacked 
the speed of his older and longer-legged pursuer. 
Although he had obtained a start of some twenty-five 
or thirty feet, he perceived presently that he was los- 
ing ground rapidly. For all that the serenity habit- 
ual to his chubby face did not diminish one whit; 
and as he turned his head from time to time to make 
a reconnoissance, his expression was as tranquil as 
though he were racing for amusement. 

The scene was an interesting one. Tom was fol- 
lowed by Harry and Willie, while Green was cheered 
on by his three cronies, who were also hot in pur- 
suit. 

Before Tom had got clear of the “Blue-grass” 
trees, he saw that he was sure of being captured, un- 
less he could introduce some new feature into his 
flight. His invention did not fail him. Suddenly 
he wheeled sharply, and, assisted by a tree which he 


TOM PLAYFAIR, 69 

caught hold of, turned at aright angle to his former 
line of retreat. 

In nimbleness Green could not compare with Tom; 
and so, before he could adjust himself to the change, 
our hero obtained a new lease of flight. All were 
now speeding towards the'line of low bluffs which 
fronted the “ Blue-grass,” and divided it off from the 
prairie land beyond. 

But . it seemed quite evident that Tom could not 
hold out long enough to gain the bluffs. 

Nearer and nearer panted Green. “ He was com- 
ing along in short pants,” Harry Quip subsequently 
remarked to some of his schoolmates; who roused 
his indignation and cut short his narrative with their 
laughter over his remarkable bull — in his case, orig- 
inal. Well — nearer and nearer came the pursuer. 
The interval between the two was scarcely twelve 
feet. 

“You’re gone, Tom!” cried Harry. 

“It’s no use,” added Willie Ruthers, as he ceased 
running, “you can’t get away.” 

Tom was now within twenty yards of the bluff, 
while his pursuer was but six or seven feet behind. 
Suddenly Tom came to a full stop, turned, and as 
his pursuer shot on, whisked aside, and put out his 
foot. 

Green took the foot offered him, and went right on, 
not as a runner, but more after the manner of a fly- 
ing squirrel. He came down all-fours on a soft bank 
of earth, and in no wise injured picked himself up. 

But before he was well on his feet, Harry Quip 
had come to the rescue with a suggestion. 

“Tom, Tom!” he cried, running, as he spoke, at an 
angle toward the bluff, “run this way for all you’re 


70 


TOM PLAYFAIR. 


worth. We’re near Keenan’s cave; and if we can 
make it, we’ll bar them out.” 

Long before Harry had ceased speaking, Tom was 
making for this prospective sanctuary. The cave in 
question was fronted by a rough, clumsy, wooden 
structure, in general appearance not unlike a storm- 
door. 

Tom’s eyes grew brighter. He felt sure of him- 
self now. Once within the cave, Harry, Willie, and 
himself might bid defiance to all outside. 

Nearer and nearer loomed the cave; one hundred 
and fifty feet more, and all was well. Green was 
far behind, and was not running as at first. 

But alas! as Tom with his eyes fixed on the refuge 
was making bravely on, he struck his foot against a 
stone and fell violently to the ground. It was an 
ugly fall. But Green did not pause to make any in- 
quiries. Throwing himself upon Tom, he proceeded 
to strike him blow after blow upon the partially up- 
turned face. 

In falling, Tom had incurred an ugly cut on the 
head. The pain was intense; more than enough to 
bear without the savage attacks of Green. 

“Give up — will you?” roared the young savage. 

“Give up what?” groaned Tom, who, dizzy and 
weak and suffering as he was, could not take his 
tormentor seriously. 

The bully continued his brutal work. Tom’s con- 
dition was becoming serious. Harry and Willie, 
who had attempted to come to his assistance, were 
forcibly held back by Pitch and his companions. 

“Now will you give up?” asked Green, again 
pausing. 

Tom felt that he was fainting; lights flickered be- 


TOM PLA YFAIR. 


n 


fore his eyes, strange noises rang in his ears; — for 
all that he had no idea of “ giving up. ” Summoning 
all his strength, he said, almost in his natural tones : — 

“ I think you asked me that before.” 

“Well, I’ll punch you so’s you wont know your- 
self next time — ” 

Green never finished his speech; a vigorous jerk 
at this juncture brought his jaws together with a 
snap, and sent him to grass with almost lightning- 
like rapidity. 

•George Keenan stood over him. But even when 
released, Tom made no move; he had fainted. 

“ Quip !” cried Keenan, “ run over to our cave and 
get some water — quick ! — Look at that, you low-lived 
bully,” he continued, addressing Green. “Do you 
see what you’ve done?” And as George spoke he 
seized the terrified boy by the collar, and shook him 
with the energy of boiling indignation. 

“He wouldn’t give up,” howled Green. 

“ Ugh!” growled George, casting an anxious look 
at the pallid face of Tom. “ If I had nothing better 
to do, I’d be glad to spend my life in shaking you 
up. That’s it, Harry,” he continued, as Quip with 
a jug of water bent over Tom, “ throw it over his 
face; he’ll be all right in a moment.” 

George seemed to be quite absent-minded. With 
his eyes fixed anxiously on Tom, his hands and arms 
were working to and fro with such energy that it was 
impossible to say where Green’s head was at any 
given moment. 

He made no pause even, when, a second later, 
Tom’s face twitched. 

“Hurrah! he’s cornin’ to!” cried Willie Ruthers, 
who had just thrown open Tom’s collar. 


72 


TOM PLA YFAIR. 


Willie was right. Tom opened his eyes; then with 
an effort raised himself on his arm. He gazed about 
him in a dazed manner, till his eyes fixed upon the 
tear-stained face of Harry Quip. He brightened at 
once, put his hand in his pocket, and said: — 

“ Here, Harry, take some candy. ” And Tom arose, 
feeble but smiling. 

“Green," said George, “before I let you go, you 
must beg this boy’s pardon." 

“I’ll not." 

“ You wont — eh ?" and George annotated this re- 
mark with a shake. 

“Ow! stop! Yes! I beg your pardon." 

“ Much obliged,” said Tom seriously. 

“Now,” continued George, “I want you to prom- 
ise me not to interfere with smaller boys. Do you 
hear? We want no bullies this year." 

“Oh yes!” cried Green, now shaken into a ball. 
“ I promise, upon my word. Oh, George, please let 
me go." 

George acceded to this earnest request, and Green 
hastened away to rejoin his friends, who, at the first 
approach of danger, had fled. 

Morally speaking, Tom had won the fight. 


CHAPTER VH. 


IN WHICH TOM USURPS MINOR ORDERS WITH STARTLING 
RESUL7S, 

NE Sunday morning toward the end of Septem- 



yj ber, the president preached a sermon to the 
students, taking for his subject our Lord’s casting 
out of the devils. He proceeded to show how the 


TOM PLAYFAIR. 


73 


Church has established certain forms of prayer, called 
exorcism, for the casting out of unclean spirits; and 
he dwelt at some length on the pitiable condition of 
a soul possessed by the evil one. 

. Then, turning to the allegorical side of the sub- 
ject, he declared that perhaps there were in that very 
students’ chapel some who were in the toils of Satan; 
some who were profane, impure, unjust; some who 
had blackened their souls with mortal sin, and driven 
out the Holy Spirit from His proper temple. 

So engaging was the style, so impressive the man- 
ner of the speaker, that all listened with eager atten- 
tion. But no one was more interested than Tom 
Playfair. That young gentleman, it must be con- 
fessed, had scarcely ever heard a sermon during the 
decade of years that summed up his life. What lit- 
tle knowledge he had of his religion had been gleaned 
from an occasional flash of attention to his aunt’s ex- 
hortations. Hence it is not surprising that Tom did 
not fully take in the speaker’s remarks; it is not 
surprising that he confounded fact with fancy, the 
literal with the figurative. 

Mass over, Tom remained in the chapel, and pro- 
ceeded to make a careful examination of all the 
prayer-books scattered about on the benches. At 
length the gratified expression which came upon his 
countenance evinced that he had found what he de- 
sired. Gravely seating himself, he read and pon- 
dered, pondered and read. Finally seeming to be 
satisfied with his researches, he closed the book and 
hurried away to the yard, where he at once sought 
out his three confidants, Harry, Willie, and Joe. 

“ I say,” began Tom, “ take some candy.*’ Candy 
was Tom’s pipe of peace. All accepted the peace- 


74 


TOM PLA YFAIR. 


offering, whereupon the young chief unfolded his 
ideas in the following conversation: — 

“ I say, did you fellows mind what the president 
said at Mass?” 

“Yes; what about it?” inquired Harry. 

“Why, just this, — one of the boys in this yard is 
possessed by the devil.” 

“What!” exclaimed all in a breath. 

“That is just what,” returned Tom, in a decided 
manner. “ Didn’t he say that any one who curses 
and acts vile is possessed by the devil ?” 

“That’s so,” assented Willie. 

“ Now, boys, I ask you — what fellow in the yard 
is it who curses and talks vile?” 

“John Green,” put in Harry. 

“ John Green,” echoed Willie. 

“Just so,” added Joe. 

“Well, now,” resumed Tom, “I’ve been looking 
this thing up, and I guess we must — what’s that 
word the President used ?” 

“ Exercise,” suggested Willie. 

“That’s just it; we must exercise him.” 

“ Chase him round the yard or something of that 
sort,” said Joe, imparting to his voice a tone half of 
suggestion, and half of inquiry. 

Tom rewarded this remark with a glance which 
was almost severe. 

“Joe,” he said, reproachfully, “exercise is some- 
thing religious, and you oughtn’t to talk that way. 
To exercise means to drive the devil out, and that’s 
what we’re going to do for Green.” 

“ But seems to me,” observed Harry, the best theo- 
logian of these youths, “ we ought to get a priest to 
do it.” 


TOM PLAYFAIR. 


75 


“I’ve thought of that, too,’’ answered Tom, with 
an impressiveness which carried confidence. “ But 
you see here’s the trouble; no fellow likes to give 
another fellow away. And if we told a priest, we’d 
have to say all the bad things we know about Green. 
Anyhow, we can try our hands first, and if our pray- 
ing don’t do good, we can get a priest at it.’’ 

Strangely enough, these three boys began to look 
upon Tom’s proposition in a serious light. Our hero 
had a boyish eloquence which persuaded where it did 
not prove. Had any other student of the yard made 
this proposal, Harry Quip would have laughed him 
into silence; but Tom was a born leader. 

“ Well, how are we to go about it ?” inquired Willie. 

“I’ll tell you,’’ answered Tom. “Fasting and 
prayers is what does it.’’ 

“Fasting?” echoed Joe. 

“Yes; we must go without supper to-night.” 

The members of the little band looked at each 
other doubtfully. 

“It’s got to be done,” said Tom, with decision. 
“ I read about it in a prayer-book.” 

“ And what else ?” asked Harry. 

“Then we’ve got to pray over him.” 

The prospect of these duties was inducing a feeling 
of awe upon all. 

“What will we say, Tom?” whispered Willie. 

“That’s just the trouble; it’s got to be in Latin, 
’cause I saw in the prayer-book a lot of Latin prayers 
they use for exercising.” 

“Whew!” exclaimed Harry. “ We can’t get over 
that.” 

“ Yes, we can, ” said the ever-ready Tom. ^ “ There’s 
a lot of Latin hymns at the end of my prayer-book, 


76 


TOM PLAYFAIR. 


and I’ll practise saying them during the day. Then, 
when I read them out loud, all you fellows need do 
is to answer, '‘Amen.'" 

“We can do that easy enough,’’ assented Harry. 
“ But when is all this to come off?’’ 

“That’s another thing I’ve settled,’’ Tom made 
answer. “ At twelve o’clock to-night. You needn’t 
look so scared. I’ll keep awake till twelve, and 
then I’ll call you fellows. You see, we must pray 
over him; and when he is lying in bed, we can do it 
as easy as not. I’ll stand at his head reading the 
verses, and you three be ready to grab him, if he 
wakes, so as to make him behave while he’s getting 
exercised.’’ 

“ Oh, Tom !’’ suddenly exclaimed the ingenious Joe. 
“ How can you read at twelve o’clock without a 
light ?’’ 

For the first time during the proceedings Tom was 
nonplussed. The question of illumination had not 
occurred to him. 

“Gracious! I didn’t think of that. Let’s all try 
and get up some scheme.” 

“Halloa! I’ll tell you what!” cried Harry tri- 
umphantly, breaking in upon the silence which had 
ensued: “we can get some candlesticks out of the 
sacristy.” 

“You’re a jewel, Harry!” exclaimed Tom, enthusi- 
astically. “That’ll make it more religious-like, 
still.” 

“What’s the matter with a few surplices?” asked 
Willie. 

“I don’t know,” mused Tom. “Do you think it 
would make the thing more piouser?” 

“Of course,” rejoined Harry. 


TOM PLAYFAIR. 


77 


“Then we’ll get surplices, too; and, Harry, I’ll 
leave all that to you, because you know more about 
the sacristy than I do. Get ’em at last recess to- 
night. Hide the candlesticks behind the door going 
up to the dormitory. Each boy can keep his surplice 
under his pillow. Now, don’t speak about this affair, 
and we’ll put it through in style.’’ 

At supper that evening four little boys took noth- 
ing; and before retiring Harry procured candles and 
surplices, and bestowed them according to direc- 
tions. 

As Tom slipped into bed he felt confident of suc- 
cess. Indeed, he found less difficulty in keeping 
awake than might have been expected. With his 
eyes fixed on the presiding prefect, Mr. Middleton, 
he watched anxiously to see him retire. But Mr. 
Middleton sat at his desk, calmly reading, till a cold 
perspiration came upon Tom, who feared the prefect 
might stay up all night. Finally, to Tom’s great 
relief, the prefect arose and set about preparing for 
bed; but before retiring he knelt beside his bed, and 
kept this position for an interminably long time, as 
it seemed to Tom. 

“Pshaw,” growled the impatient sentinel; “this 
isn’t the time to pray. He ought to do that when 
the boys are awake instead of watching ’em.” 

At length Mr. Middleton did go to bed, and there 
was silence for an hour. Then arose Tom, donned 
his garments, and, tiptoeing from bed to bed, aroused 
his fellow-conspirators. 

All dressed, they stole noiselessly out of the 
dormitory. Presently a solemn procession enters. 
Tom, surpliced, and with prayer-book, at the head, 
followed by his three friends, each bearing a lighted 


78 


TOM PLA YFAIR. 


candle. Solemn and silent they range themselves 
round the bed of the unconscious victim. 

“Don’t touch him,” whispered Tom, “unless he 
wakes. But if he does, grab him, and hold him 
down till I’m done expelling the devil out.” 

“What if he shouts?” asked Joe. 

“ He wont shout,” said Harry; “ I’ll see that he’s 
quiet.” 

“ Very well, ” said Tom. “ Now, are you all ready ?” 

General assent. 

“All right; here goes: 

‘ Dies irae, dies ilia, 

Solvet saeclum in favilla, 

Teste David cum Sibylla.' ” 

Here Tom looked up from his book. General 
silence. 

“Answer, will you — it’s the end of the verse.” 

— meti” came the solemn answer. The sleep- 
ing innocent did not appear to be affected in the 
least. 

Tom went on: 

“ ‘ Quantus tremor est futurus, 

Quando Judex est ven turns, 

Cuncta stricte discussurus.’ ” 

Amen^” was the prompt response. Green moved 
uneasily, and gave a groan. 

“Go on, Tom, it’s fetching him,” observed Harry 
gravely. 

“Oh!” cried Joe, “maybe it’s the devil coming 
out. Do you think he’ll hurt us?” 

“Not if we behave properly,” said Tom, though 
he paled a little. “ Come on, now. Here’s one 
that’s got a sound to it: 


TOM PLA YFAIR. 


79 


‘ Tuba mirum spargens sonum 
Per sepulchra regionum 
Coget omnes ante thronum.’ ” 

Amen/' 

Green moved and groaned again. 

“Grab him boys; he’s waking!’’ exclaimed Tom. 

As Green opened his eyes to find himself in the 
clutches of four white-robed figures, his terror knew 
no bounds. “ What’s the matter ?” he gasped. “ Am 
I dead?” 

“No; but you will be,” answered Tom, “if you 
don’t lie still. Keep quiet, you goose, while you 
are being exercised.” 

Green’s terror, now that he came to appreciate the 
situation, fast gave way to rage. He attempted to 
cry out, whereupon Harry Quip promptly stuffed a 
towel into his mouth. Green was a strong lad; and 
he made violent struggles to escape from the grasp 
of his persecutors. But his efforts seemed to be 
unavailing. 

Suddenly there was a great crash. The bed had 
come to pieces. Panic stricken, Joe, Harry, and 
Willie rushed from the dormitory. Quick as thought, 
Tom extinguished the lighted candles, which the 
deserters had left on the field, and with a skip and a 
bound tucked himself snugly in his bed. 

Nor was he too quick. Mr. Middleton, on coming 
to the scene of action, found Green standing beside 
his dismantled bed, looking the embodiment of guilt. 

“ Take that vacant bed over there. Green, and we’ll 
settle this matter in the morning.” 

“ But, sir — ” remonstrated the innocent victim — 
“but, sir—” 

“That’ll do now; go to bed.” 


8o 


TOM PLA YFAIR. 


And Mr. Middleton, glancingabout the dormitory, 
took down the names of the absentees. 

Next morning Tom confessed the whole affair, 
taking all the blame upon his own shoulders. Mr. 
Middleton was secretly amused at Tom’s ideas of 
diabolical possession; none the less, he kept that 
young gentleman very busy for some time commit- 
ting lines to memory; and with this exercise termi- 
nated Tom’s career as an exorcist. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

X 

IN WHICH TOM GETS INTO MANY DIFFICULTIES, AND 
HOLDS AN ASTONISHING IN TEE FIE W WITH MR. 
MIDDLETON. 

T OM’S first five or six weeks at St. Maure’s, like 
the course of true love in fable and history, did 
not run smooth. His troubles, some of which we 
have narrated, were not confined to the yard alone. 
They followed him into the class-room. 

Tom thought, like many other students, that he 
would pick up the class matter by easy studying. 
But on this point his professor did not agree with 
him. 

It must be confessed, too, that Tom was at times 
overbold in his manner of deporting himself in the 
class-room. 

On one occasion, Mr. Middleton put himself to 
much trouble to explain along and complicated sum 
in fractions. He went over the problem step by step 
in such wise that no one not absolutely feather- 
brained could fail of following the process. Mr. 


TOM PLA YFAIR. 


8i 


Middleton was the soul of earnestness in teaching; 
and so at the end of half an hour’s explanation he was 
covered with chalk, while beads of perspiration — it 
was by no means a warm day — stood out upon his 
brow. 

“ Now, boys,” he said, turning full upon the class, 
“do you understand it all?” The head of each and 
every boy nodded assent. Suddenly a hand went up. 
It was Tom’s. 

“Well, Playfair?” 

“Yes, sir,” said Tom soberly. 

Mr. Middleton was puzzled. 

“What do you mean, Playfair?” 

“I understand it, sir.” 

Mr. Middleton smiled; there was a slight titter 
among the more thoughtless boys; yet somehow Tom 
felt that he was out of order; he was sensible in a 
dim way that Mr. Middleton’s smile carried a reproof 
with it. But the words had been spoken, and were 
beyond recall. 

A day or two later, Mr. Middleton was hearing 
recitations. Alexander Jones was called upon to 
answer some questions on the geography of Vermont. 

“What is the nature of the land, Jones?” asked 
Mr. Middleton in a kindly manner. 

Jones arose, one quivering bundle of nerves, his 
eyebrows twitching, his knees bending under him, his 
lips quivering, and his fingers in a fury of motion. 
He grew intensely pale and gave several gasps. 

Mr. Middleton, with a few encouraging words, 
repeated the question. 

“ It’s a con-continent,” gasped Jones. 

“I’m afraid you didn’t catch my question,” said 
Mr, Middleton. “ Now don’t bo afraid. I’m suro 
6 


t 


82 


TOM PLAYFAIR, 


you know it. Listen ; what is the nature of the land ? 
Is it rocky, or mountainous, or sandy, or what? 

Poor Jones gasped again, but gave no answer. 
Here Tom (who knew nothing about the lesson) came 
bravely to the rescue. He was seated just behind 
Jones. 

“ It’s mountainous,” he whispered. 

“ It’s m — mountainous,” Jones stammered. 

“Yes,” said Mr. Middleton, as if expecting more. 

“Go on,” growled Tom, “and tell him it’s 
rocky. ” 

“ It’s rocky,” repeated Jones. 

But even this answer did not seem to satisfy Mr. 
Middleton. 

“Tell him it’s sandy,” continued the prompter. 

“ It’s — it’s sandy.” 

But Mr. Middleton, for some unknown reason, 
failed to come to the rescue of the hapless boy. He 
still waited. 

“ Hang it,” growled Tom, unwittingly speaking so 
loud as to be heard by the professor and the entire 
class, “tell him it’s very mountainous, very rocky, 
and very sandy.” 

“ It’s very mountainous, very rocky, and very 
sandy, ” blurted forth Jones, and as a burst of laughter 
saluted his remark he sank back into his seat misera- 
bly conscious that he had cut a very ridiculous figure. 

“Playfair, after class,” said Mr. Middleton sen- 
tentiously. 

“I didn’t do anything,” exclaimed Tom with vir- 
tuous indignation. 

But the professor very wisely ignored thi% dis- 
claimer, and continued the recitation. 

In consequence, then, of bad conduct and faulty 


TOM PLA YFAIR. 


83 


recitations, it was not an uncommon sight after class 
to see our little friend, book in hand, patrolling the 
yard, endeavoring to make up at the eleventh hour 
what he had failed in at the first. And-so, naturally 
enough, Tom came gradually to imbibe a disgust for 
study and class-work, which in the course of three 
or four weeks culminated in an almost entire neglect 
of studies. Tom felt in his heart that he was acting 
wrong; but he was a thoughtless boy, and his sense 
of responsibility was but poorly developed. Yet he 
realized with growing unhappiness that, should he 
continue in his present courses, he would soon be at 
the foot of the class. 

Mr. Middleton, indeed, had no trouble in divining 
the state of Tom’s mind; but he resolved to wait till 
some favorable opportunity should present itself for 
turning the pupil from his ill-chosen path. The op- 
portunity soon came. An incident in the yard brought 
it about. 

It was a gloomy morning in early autumn. Tom 
was straggling along moodily from the refectory 
towards the yard, when he perceived lying upon the 
ground two ready-made cigarettes, dropped, probably, 
by one of the senior students in the rush and shock 
of a game of foot-ball. Quickly picking them up, 
he hurried to his yard and sought Harry Quip. Tom 
was rather out of spirits on this morning — he was 
totally unprepared in lessons, and he looked forward 
with unpleasant feelings to the day’s recitations. 
There was unhappiness awaiting him in the line of 
duty. He would seek happiness in the line of 
mischief. 

He found Harry without difficulty, and drew hinx 
aside. 


84 


TOM PLA YFAIR. 


“Look here, Harry,” and Tom produced the two 
cigarettes, “ what do you say to a smoke ?” 

“ Halloa ! what’s up now ?” Harry exclaimed. “ On 
the road here you told me you didn’t care about 
smoking, and I liked what you said first-rate.” 

“Yes; but just for fun,” pleaded Tom. 

Harry placed his hand affectionately on Tom’s 
shoulder, and with his honest face and eyes beaming 
earnestness, said: — 

“Tom, old fellow, I’m afraid you’re going wrong 
— just a little bit, you know. Of course there’s 
nothing bad about smoking — but — but — well, I aint 
no philosopher, but it’s so anyhow.” 

This speech was incoherent enough. Harry had 
endeavored to tell the truth and at the same time 
spare the feelings of his “ partner. ” But honest words 
are more than grammar and rhetoric; and long, long 
after, the sympathetic face and kindly voice of Harry 
haunted Tom, and helped him in the path of duty. 

But at the moment he was in no mood to be softened. 
He added in extenuation: — 

“You see, Harry, I’ve got to do something or I’ll 
die. Come on and take a few puffs.” 

“Nixie,” responded Harry, shaking his head and 
grinning, “and I tell you what, Tom, don’t you get 
in with the smokers on the sly. It doesn’t pay.” 

Seeing Harry’s determination to behave well, Tom 
respected it; and forthwith sought in his stead an 
old and tried smoker, John Pitch. 

“ You’re just the fellow I wanted to see !” exclaimed 
John Pitch enthusiastically, when Tom had made his 
proposition. “You see the old church-building? 
Come on over to that corner between the walls of the 
hand-ball alley. It’s a safe place now, Mr. Middle- 


TOM PLAYFAIR. 


85 


ton is taking his breakfast, and Mr. Phelan has to 
stay in the playroom — and I’ve got any amount of 
matches.” 

“ Now,” resumed Johnny a few seconds later, when 
they had nestled close together in the corner, “ unless 
you want to get caught, don’t blow your smoke out 
ahead of you, so’s it can be seen. Every time you 
take a puff, turn your head round this way, and blow 
it here right through this chink into the old church. 
It’s a great trick; I found it out myself.” 

Tom gave audible approbation to this advice, and 
proceeded to carry it out to the letter; and for some 
minutes the two smoked in silence. 

“Isn’t it immense?” John at length inquired. 

“Isn’t it though?” answered Tom, repressing a 
cough. 

“Say,” resumed John, a moment later, “can you 
make the smoke come out of your nose ?” 

“Oh! that’s nothing,” responded Tom; and he 
executed the required feat. 

“ You can’t inhale — can you ?” pursued John. 

“Of course I can, if I want to; but I don’t care 
much about it.” 

“Well, I’ll tell you what you can’t do; you can’t 
talk with smoke inside of you and then blow it out 
after you’re through talking.” 

“ Neither can you.” 

“I’ll bet I can.” 

“Let’s see you do it, then!” exclaimed Tom with 
increasing animation. 

In answer to this, John gravely inhaled a mouth- 
ful of smoke; then said: — 

“See! that’s the way to do the thing,” and blew 
it forth. 


86 


TOM PLA YFAIR. 


“Gracious. Dut that’s immense. I want to learn 
that trick too; let’s see you do it again.” 

Both were now absorbed — Tom, cigarette in hand, 
intently eyeing John; and John, cigarette in mouth, 
determined to heighten his disciple’s admiration. 

John now took two or three vigorous puffs, then 
inhaled the triple instalment. 

Just at this most interesting juncture, Tom’s quick 
ear caught the sound of approaching footsteps. 

Cave ^ look out,” he whispered, and as he spoke 
he dropped his cigarette by his side and crushed it 
under his foot. 

But John was not so quick, his lungs were still 
filled with smoke, and his cigarette was still in his 
hand, as Mr. Middleton, the terror of smokers, turned 
the corner. But the young rogue was not without 
resource; he and his companion, as has been said, 
were nestled together, and the open pocket in Tom’s 
sailor-jacket was convenient to the hand in which 
John was holding the cigarette. There was no re- 
sisting the temptation. Deftly, quietly, he dropped 
the burning cigarette into the yawning pocket. Un- 
conscious of this, Tom, with his eyes full upon Mr. 
Middleton, was inwardly congratulating himself upon 
his lucky escape. Not so John. Although free of 
the tell-tale cigarette, it could hardly be said that he 
was in a happy frame of mind. The smoke within 
him imperatively demanded an outlet; and there 
stood Mr. Middleton, confronting him with the evi- 
dent intention of opening a conversation. 

“Good morning, boys,” the prefect began. 

“Good morning, Mr. Middleton,” answered Tom, 
who, aware of John’s predicament, was resolved to 
do the talking for both. 


TOM PLAYFAIR. 87 

“There’s a strange smell about here,” continued 
the prefect, with a peculiar smile. 

“Yes, sir, there is,” returned Tom gravely. “I 
wonder if there arn’t some skunks in this old build- 
ing. Some of the old fellows says there are.” 

“ I hardly think it a skunk. But what’s the mat- 
ter with you, Johnny? are you ill?” 

The question was pertinent. John was now in a 
partial state of suffocation, his eyes were bulging 
out of his head, his mouth was closed tight, and his 
cheeks were puffed out as though he were a cornet- 
player executing a high and difficult note. 

It is superfluous to add, then, that John returned 
no answer. Tom made an awkward attempt to divert 
Mr. Middleton’s attention. A number of boys had 
just issued from the play-room; Tom made the most 
of it. 

“Oh! Mr. Middleton, what’s that crowd of boys 
outside the play-room up to? Looks as if there’s 
going to be a fight or something.” 

“Johnny, you must tell me what ails you;” and 
Mr. Middleton, regardless of Tom’s eager remark, 
fixed his penetrating eyes on John. 

A moment of painful silence followed. 

One moment and the victim of asphyxiation could 
hold in no longer — a gasp and a choke, and out came 
the smoke. 

“Dear me! you appear to be on fire inside,” 
remarked the prefect. 

“ I guess you’re pretty sick, Johnny,” put in Tom, 
becoming bolder under stress of desperation. “Any- 
how I hope it aint catching. I’ve been sitting 
alongside of — ” 

He finished this interesting address with a shriek 


88 


TOA/ FLA YFAIR. 


of pain, as he suddenly jumped to his feet and clapped 
both hands to his bosom — smoke was streaming from 
his pocket. 

“It looks as if it was catching,” remarked Mr. 
Middleton. “You are on fire outside.” 

With some rubbing and slapping — accompanied 
by a round of hopping and wriggling — Tom saved 
his jacket pocket from utter destruction; then as he 
grew calmer he threw a reproachful eye upon John. 

With a smile the prefect walked away, leaving 
them to conjecture the nature and extent of their 
punishment. 

During six o’clock studies that evening, Tom was 
summoned to the room of Mr. Middleton. 

“Well, Tom,” began the prefect when the culprit 
had presented himself, “ how are you getting on ?” 

Tom became lost in the contemplation of his feet. 

“Take a seat,” continued Mr. Middleton, indicat- 
ing a chair. “ I want to have a talk with you. Now, 
my boy,” he resumed when Tom had seated himself, 
“ I have had a good chance to watch you in class and 
in the yard, for some weeks, and I have come to the 
conclusion that you are a very stubborn boy. Isn’t 
that so ?” 

“Yes, sir,” said Tom mildly. 

“You don’t seem to mind anything I tell you. 
Day after day, it’s the same old story, bad lessons, 
careless exercises, and then when I call you to ac- 
count, your manner shows that you have little or no 
intention of doing better. Do you deny that?” 

“No, sir,” answered Tom, beginning to feel very 
uncomfortable and very wicked. 

“And don’t you think that a stubborn disposition 
is a bad thing for a little boy?” 


TOM PLA YFAIR, 


89 


“Yes, sir.” 

“Well, I don’t,” said Mr. Middleton. 

“You don’t!” exclaimed Tom in surprise. 

“ Not entirely. Columbus, Washington, St. Francis 
Xavier were in a sense stubborn men. Indeed, I think 
all truly great men must have a fair share of stub- 
bornness in their composition. 

Tom’s face betrayed no less astonishment than 
interest. 

“Columbus,” continued Mr. Middleton, “by stub- 
bornly clinging to one idea in spite of rebuffs and 
disappointment, discovered a new world. Washing- 
ton in the face of most disheartening difficulties — 
difficulties from friends and from foes — held to his 
purpose, and created a nation. If Columbus had not 
been stubborn he would have given in ; and America 
might have been undiscovered for years and years 
after his death; if Washington had been less stub- 
born, perhaps our country might have never achieved 
her freedom. Did you ever read the life of St. 
Francis Xavier ?” 

“I don’t read pious books very often, sir.” 

“Well, he was just such another man — stubborn 
as could be. When he was a young student nothing 
would satisfy him but to become a great philosopher. 
So he studied away, week after week, year after 5^ear, 
till he became one of the learned doctors of his age. 
Then when St. Ignatius converted him, he became 
just as stubborn in converting 'souls to God, as he 
had before been stubborn in acquiring philosophy. 
Nothing could divert him from his new work. Labor, 
pain, hunger, abandonment of home and friends — all 
were bravely endured to this end ; and Francis Xavier 
became the great apostle of modern times.” 


90 


TOM PLAYFAIR. 


“ Well, it seems to me, Mr. Middleton, that if stub- 
bornness were a good thing, it wouldn’t make a boy 
act wrong.” 

“Oh, it may,” answered Mr. Middleton with a 
smile, “ if it be misused. Isn’t bread a good thing ?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“ But it wouldn’t be good if you were to pave the 
streets with it. Stubbornness is good too, but only 
when used the right way. Stubbornness is merely 
the sign of a strong will — a strong determination. 
If you exert your stubborn strength of will to doing 
what is good, you are all the better and nobler for 
your stubbornness. But if you exert it for a bad 
purpose, then you are so much the worse. And what 
a pity it is that boys misuse so good a gift of God! 
Why, my dear boy, I have known not a few college 
students who bent all their energies to getting off 
their lessons without being punished, and who with 
the same energy might have acquired such an educa- 
tion as would have reflected honor on themselves. 
And you too, Tom, must guard against misapplying 
this energy, this determination, this perseverance, 
this stubbornness — you see it has many names — to 
wrong purposes. It is a gift to you from God Him- 
self ; and you must show your gratitude by using the 
gift aright. Do you remember when Green attacked 
you, how steadfastly you bore his blows till you 
fainted ?” 

“ I guess I do.” 

“You were determined not to give in. Now take 
your lessons the same way. Don’t let trouble, weari- 
ness, memory-work scare you; just hold on tight to 
your lessons. Never give in or yield to them; make 
them yield to you. Then, indeed, you will see that 


TOM PLA YFAIR. 


91 


your stubbornness is a gift of the good God. By 
the way, you intend making your First Communion 
this year, don’t you?” 

“Yes, sir; I’m awful anxious to make it. I’m 
going on eleven, sir,” — here the boy’s lips quivered, 
and he caught his breath — “and — and — well, when- 
ever I think of Holy Communion, I — eh — think of 
my mamma, sir. She died when I was only seven. 
But I remember how she was always speaking to me 
about my making a good First Communion.” 

Whilst speaking these words, Tom repeatedly 
shifted from one foot to the other. This was his 
expression of strong emotion. And he had reason 
to be affected. For, as he spoke, the sweet, pure 
face of his departed mother came back vividly to 
his memory, and while her deep, dark, tender eyes 
kindled into love, her lips moved in a last prayer 
for the weeping child whom she strained in a dying 
clasp to her bosom ; moved in a prayer that Mary 
the Virgin Mother might guide the ways of her dar- 
ling son. Then the strain relaxed, the sweet eyes 
closed, a shadow seemed to pass over the pallid face, 
and, as he covered the stilled features with kisses, he 
knew that his mamma was with God. Poor mother- 
less boy ! 

Mr. Middleton was touched. From Tom’s halting 
words and shifting of position he had caught some 
glimpse of the little lad’s heart. 

“In general,” said the prefect quite gently, “a 
boy is a great loser if his mamma dies before he 
grows up. The reason often is that he forgets. But 
you do not forget, Tom.” 

“Sometimes I do, Mr. Middleton ; I’ve been for- 
getting a heap more than I ought to.” 


92 


TOM PLA YFAIR. 


“Well, Tom, I have great confidence in you." 

Mr, Middleton said these words in a tone so im- 
pressive, so earnest, that Tom felt more and more 
humbled. , 

“ I haven’t done anything to deserve it, sir.” 

“ But you will do much to deserve it, or I am 
sadly mistaken in you. Now, I’m going to tell you 
a secret, Tom; but mind you keep it to yourself. 
Three weeks ago, I received a letter from your father 
in which he asked me to give him a report of you.” 

Tom’s cheeks lost their color. 

“ He said that you had given much trouble at 
home, that you seemed to be very thoughtless even 
for your age, and that he doubted strongly about 
your fitness to make your First Communion this 
year. ” 

Tom caught his breath. 

“ And he added that, unless I could assure him that 
you were giving perfect satisfaction, he would defer 
your First Communion till you were twelve.” 

The listener turned away his face and gazed 
through the open window. 

“I answered your father’s letter half an hour 
ago.” 

“O! I’m a goner, then.” Tom’s expression was 
really pathetic. 

“ Listen to what I’ve sent him. 

Dear Mr. Playfair : 

In regard to your spn’s conduct, it is too early in the year to 
say anything definite. But from the data already afforded me 
by what I have seen of him in the class-room and in the play- 
ground, I feel quite certain that he will develop into a thoroughly 
good and noble boy, 

Yours sincerely in Xt., 

Francis Middleton, S. J. 


TOM PLA VFAIR. 


93 


Tom’s lips quivered, and a softness came into his 
dark eyes ; he made no attempt to speak. The firm, 
noble head bowed low. He could have fallen at 
Mr. Middleton’s feet. 

“ Now, Tom, I’m quite sure that I have not been 
deceived in you. Perhaps I was over harsh with 
5’^ou at first — ” 

“No, you weren’t. Hang it,’’ blurted forth Tom, 
“ if you’d kicked me once or twice, I’d feel better 
now.’’ 

Mr. Middleton held out his hand; Tom caught it 
in a fervent grasp. 

“Now my boy, we will forget the past. Take a 
walk in the yard for a while, and think over what I 
have said. Then make your resolutions carefully, 
and ask the blessing of the Sacred Heart.’’ 

Tom departed, carrying a new range of ideas in 
his little brain; up and down the yard he paced, 
buried in thought. The seed had fallen on good 
ground. Finally, going to the chapel, he knelt for 
a long time before the tabernacle and prayed with 
all the earnestness of his soul, that he might turn 
over a new leaf. Nor was his prayer unheard; from 
that hour Tom. became a more faithful student, a 
more earnest Christian. 

It was twelve of the night, when Harry Quip was 
aroused from slumber by a. hand which was shaking 
him in no gentle manner. 

On opening his eyes, he discerned by the dim light 
of the dormitory lamp Tom Playfair. 

“What’s the matter, Tom?” 

“I say, Harry, isn’t Mr. Middleton a brick?’* 

“ Oh, go to bed,” growled Harry, turning over and 
burying his face in the pilloWf 


94 


TOM PLAYFAIR. 


Tom complied with this sensible advice, and lay 
awake for full three minutes, building golden visions 
of the great day now assuredly near at hand. 

Ah ! if he only knew what difficulties were to arise, 
and under what tragic circumstances he was to make 
his First Communion, I am quite sure that he would 
have lain awake for at least six minutes. 


CHAPTER IX. 

IN WHICH TOM CONCLUDES THAT VINEGAR NEVER 
CA TCHES FLIES. 

F or the ensuing two or three weeks the current 
of events at college flowed on with scarcely a 
ripple. Every day Tom seemed to gain new friends. 
Indeed, with the exception of John Green, he had 
not a single enemy among his playmates; and even 
Green’s enmity had grown less demonstrative. 

As a fit preparation for his First Communion, 
Tom had resolved to put himself at peace with the 
whole world. He now regretted that he had made 
a laughing-stock of Green on the occasion of their 
first meeting; and he was on the alert to do some- 
thing towards closing the breach between them, 

A slight change in the routine of school-life gave 
him the desired opportunity. 

Towards the end of October, it was found neces- 
sary to make some repairs in the western corner of 
the small boys’ dormitory. In consequence, seven- 
teen of the students occupying beds in that part were 
assigned temporary accommodations in the attic of 
the main building, a structure towering high above 
all its fellows. 


TOM PLAYFAIR. 


95 


It was Wednesday afternoon when Mr. Middleton 
announced the names of those who were to change 
their sleeping quarters. Tom, Harry Quip, Alex- 
ander Jones, John Pitch, Green, and others with 
whom our story has not to do, composed this privi- 
leged number. 

To add a zest to the privilege, he allowed the 
happy seventeen to explore their improved dormitory 
immediately after class, and very quickly after class 
the brick building resounded to the tramp of multi- 
tudinous feet scampering nimbly up the stairs as 
though on a mission of life and death. 

“Whoop-la!” cried Tom, as he burst into the 
great room, seamed and ribbed overhead with heavy 
beams. “ It’s like the attic of a haunted house, 
only bigger — isn’t it. Green?” 

“It’s an immense place for fun,” responded his 
companion. “ Look at all the corners and hiding- 
places. We can play ‘I spy’ here, if we don’t feel 
sleepy.” 

“Yes,” assented Tom, “and at night we might 
climb out on the roof and count the stars. Did you 
ever count the stars, Johnny?” 

“ Naw; did you ?” 

“ I tried it one night at home, when I was lying in 
bed and couldn’t sleep. I got as far as fifty-seven, 
and then I went off sound asleep. But there are 
lots more than fifty-seven.” 

“I guess there’s over a trillion,” said Green 
reflectively. 

Both felt that their remarks had fairly exhausted 
their astronomical researches. 

“ Come on,” said Tom, “ let’s get out on the roof.” 

As he spoke, he pointed toward a ladder which led 


96 


TOM PLA YFAIR. 


up to a cupola, rising some seven or eight feet above 
the roof of the building. This cupola gave access 
to the roof by means of a small door, which opened 
at the side and was secured from within by a strong 
bolt. 

Followed by Tom, Green ran up the ladder, shot 
back the bolt, and made his way upon the roof. 

“I’d like to live on a roof,’’ said Tom tranquilly, 
as he walked over to the eastern verge, and gazed 
down upon the yard below. 

“Come back, you idiot,’’ cried Green, in what he 
considered his most persuasive accents, “you’ll get 
dizzy and keel over.’’ 

“I’ll bet I wont,’’ answered Tom. “Don’t you 
think I’ve ever been on a roof before? This one 
isn’t steep like ours, but it’s a heap higher. I say, 
how’d you like to stand on top of that lightning 
rod?’’ and Tom motioned with his index finger 
toward the tip of a rod, which rose above the 
cupola. 

Green ran over, caught hold of the rod and shook 
it. 

“ I wouldn’t like it at all, unless I wanted to break 
my neck; it’s loose. What’ll you bet I can’t pull 
it down ?’’ 

“It isn’t ours, Johnnie.’’ 

“ I’d just as soon pull it down as not,’’ continued 
Green. Nevertheless, he relinquished his hold upon 
it, and turned away. 

Tom had occasion to remember this episode sub- 
sequently, though at the moment both he and Green 
dismissed the subject so lightly. 

Some seven or eight others now found their way 
to the roof, and the conversation, made up in great 


TOM PLAYFAIR. 


97 


part of “ohs” and “ahs,” had become quite general 
and very noisy, when Mr. Middleton appeared and 
sternly ordered all down. 

Tom and Green were the first to de.scend, followed 
by the others in Indian file. The last to re-enter 
shut the door behind him, but neglected to bolt it. 
The omission passed unnoticed. 

“ I say, Mr. Middleton, ” observed Tom solemnly, 
“I thought you didn’t believe in slang.” 

“Indeed! I wouldn’t advise people to use it in 
ordinary.” 

“Well, sir, you gave us bad example.” 

“ How ?” 

“You told us to ‘come off the roof,’ sir.” 

And satisfied with his little joke, Tom was about 
to hurry away, when he was arrested by Mr. Middle- 
ton’s voice. 

“Well, sir.” 

“You’ll have to do penance for that joke, Tom. 
I want four or five willing boys to bring over pil- 
lows and bedding; the workmen will attend to the 
beds and mattresses. You might get Quip and 
Donnel to help you.” 

“All right, sir; that’ll be fun.” As Tom spoke, 
he saw an eager look upon Green’s face. “ And I say, 
Mr. Middleton,” he added, “ can’t Johnny Green help 
us? he’s willing.” 

“ Of course,” was the cordial answer, accompanied 
by a kindly look at Johnny. 

Poor Green! there was areal, wholesome blush 
upon his face as he blurted forth some disjointed 
words of thanks. 

“Well,” commented Mr. Middleton to himself, as 
the lads went pattering down the stairs, “ that Play- 
7 


98 


TOM PLAYFAIR. 


fair has unconsciously taught me another lesson, I 
mustn’t forget to notice the hard cases now and then. 
Unless I’m mistaken, Green will be in a better mood 
for a week.” 

“He’s a good fellow,” Green observed, as they 
were trotting across the yard, 

“Isn’t he?” said Tom, 

“And so are you,” added Green, growing very red 
as he spoke, 

Tom laughed ; he had succeeded. His only enemy 
was won over, 

Tom had brought a diary from home having made 
a promise on receiving it to write something in it 
every day. That night at studies, he opened it for 
the first time, and made this his first entry. It hap- 
pened to be the last also. 

Oct. 30TH. — Since coming to college I have notised that vini- 
ger never catches flys. To-day I am eleven years old. This 
year I am going to make my First Communion. His name is 
Green. I don’t believe there is anything near a trillion stars. 


CHAPTER X. 

IN WHICH TOM GIVES GREEN A BIT OF ADVICE, WHICH, 
AIDED BY A STORM, IS NOT WITHOUT ITS EFFECT. 

O N the afternoon of the following day, Tom, 
Harry, and Alexander Jones were engaged in 
' an earnest consultation. 

“I don’t think he’d allow it,” said Harry. 

“What do you think, Alec?” asked Tom. 

“ I’d be afraid to ask,” responded Alec. 

“Well, he can’t more than refuse, and I guess I 
can Stand that. Yes, fellows, I’m going to ask.” 


TOM PLA YFAIR. 


99 


And without further ado, Tom walked over towards 
Mr. Middleton, who was acting as umpire in a game 
of hand-ball between Donnel and Keenan. 

“Well, Tom,” said the prefect, as he caught the 
anxious eyes of our hero fixed upon him, “what do 
you want ?” 

“ If you please, sir, I’d like permission to take a 
walk with Harry Quip and Alec Jones.” 

“Certainly; you are all on the good conduct list. 
Be back half an hour before supper.” 

“And, Mr. Middleton, can’t Crazy — that is, can't 
Johnny Green come along with us?” 

“ He’s not on the conduct list. You know the 
rule.” 

“Yes, sir; but he hasn’t had a chance to go out 
since the first week of school.” 

“ That’s not a sufficient reason for his going out 
now.” 

“ But, Mr. Middleton, yesterday you told me you’d 
make it all right with me for carrying over the bed- 
clothes and things. Let Green come along, and I 
can’t ask for anything I’d like more. You know, 
sir, we haven’t been friends up to yesterday.” And 
Tom gazed at the prefect wistfully. 

“Tom,” answered Mr. Middleton, after a few 
moments of consideration, “please tell Green that 
I’m very glad to have an excuse for letting him out, 
and that I hope he’ll have all the privileges of the 
conduct list next month.” 

“Thanks, Mr. Middleton; I know every word you 
said just then by heart, and I’ll tell it to him exactly 
as you said it.” And touching his cap Tom hurried 
away. 

“ Say, Green, wont you take some candy ?” he in- 


lOO 


TOM PLAYFAIR. 


quired of that young gentleman, whom he found 
engaged in furtively carving his name on a corner 
of the little boys’ building. 

Green closed his knife very promptly, and accepted 
the candy with silent enthusiasm. 

“ How’d you like to take a walk, Green, with me 
and Quip and Jones?” 

“I’d like it well enough to walk with anybody,” 
came the rough answer. “But I’m not allowed out- 
side this wretched yard.” And Green went on to 
express his injured feelings in a manner too realistic 
for reproduction. 

“You needn’t swear about it anyhow,” interrupted 
Tom, “ and besides, Mr. Middleton has given you 
permission.” 

Green opened his eyes. 

“ What ?” he gasped. 

Then Tom repeated Mr. Middleton’s message. 

“Just my luck,” observed Green, gazing ruefully 
at the letters he had cut. “ If he sees those initials 
I’ll lose my conduct-card again. I can’t behave, to 
save myself.” 

Tom pulled out his own knife, and forthwith began 
working upon Green’s carving. 

“There!” he said presently. “If anybody can 
make J. G. out of that now he’ll have to be pretty 
smart. Come on, Johnnie, and we’ll have a fine 
walk.” 

Accordingly the four were soon outside the college 
grounds, an event which Green celebrated by put- 
ting a huge quid of tobacco into his mouth. 

It was a gloomy afternoon. The morning had 
opened with a black mass of clouds low down upon 
the eastern horizon. With the progress of the day, 


TOM PLAYFAIR. 


lOI 


they had been accumulating and spreading west- 
ward, growing thicker and blacker in their advance, 
till nearly half of the firmament was now veiled 
from the eye. 

“That’s an ugly sky,” observed Harry. 

“There’s lots of wind in those clouds,” added 
Tom. It looks as though we’d have a big storm 
to-night.” 

“So it does,” assented Alec, who did little else 
in ordinary conversation beyond contributing the 
scriptural yea and nay. 

“ I aint afraid of storms,” said Green. 

“There’s nothing wonderful about that,” com- 
mented Tom. “What would you be afraid for?” 

“Some fellows get scared when they hear the 
thunder,” explained Green; “but I don’t mind it 
one bit.” 

“I do,” said Alec. “When the thunder begins, 
and I’m in bed, I always put my head under the 
blankets and pray.” 

“That’s ’cos you’re a coward,” said Green loftily. 
“I don’t fear going to bed in the dark nor nothin’.” 

“In other words,” remarked Quip, with a solemn 
roll of his big eyes, “you aren’t afraid of any- 
thing.” 

“ Naw — I aint afraid of nothing.” 

“You’re not afraid to blow, that’s sure,” put in 
Tom, in a matter-of-fact tone. “All the same, 
Johnnie, I rather think you’d be scared if you knew 
you had to die right off.” 

“I don’t know about that,” answered Green. “I 
don’t expect to go to heaven anyhow.” 

“You don’t?” 

“ Naw; I gave up trying to be good long ago.” 


102 


TOM PLAYFAIR. 


“ At least, you might try to make the nine First 
Fridays that Father Nelson talked to us about in 
the chapel,” suggested Tom. 

Green stared at him heavily. 

“He said, you know,” continued Tom, “that 
there’s a promise of grace to die well for any fellow 
that makes ’em.” 

“I heard him; but once a month is too often for 
me. 

“Just think,” added Harry Quip, “to-morrow’s 
the first Friday in November. Make a start. Crazy; 
it wont hurt you to try. ” 

“I guess I’ll not begin yet,” answered Green, as 
he proceeded to roll a cigarette. 

“It would please Mr. Middleton a heap,” Tom 
observed. 

“Yes, indeed,” put in Alec. 

“And it would do you any amount of good,” added 
Tom. “Come on, Johnnie; you sneaked out of 
going to communion last time the boys went. You 
needn’t stare; I had my eyes open, and I saw you 
dodging. It’s my opinion that you’ve been dodg- 
ing ever since you came back to college.” 

“Say, you didn’t tell on me, did you?” 

“ Not yet,” answered Tom diplomatically — he had 
never entertained the idea of reporting Green to the 
authorities; “and I wont mention it either. Now 
you’ll go to-morrow, wont you?” 

There was a short silence. 

“Yes,” answered Green at length, and speaking 
with an effort, “I’ll go.” 

Making their way through the woods which girded 
the river, they presently arrived at a clearing upon 
the bank. 


TOM PLA YFAIR. 103 

“Isn’t it growing dark awful fast?” exclaimed 
Harry. 

“Just look at those clouds; they’re beginning to 
move faster and faster; and they’re coming our 
way too,” cried Tom. 

“Let’s run home,” suggested Green. 

Borne on the wings of the storm, the dark masses 
in the east were advancing gloomily, rapidly, like a 
marshalled army. The wind which carried them on 
could be faintly heard, breaking upon the dread 
silence which had come over the scene round about 
them, as the ticking of a watch at midnight upon a 
nerve-shattered invalid. 

Fascinated by the sweep of clouds, they stood, 
these little boys, with their eyes lifted towards the 
heavens. 

“Ah!” 

This exclamation which seemed to break from all 
simultaneously was evoked by a sudden change in 
the moving panorama. For, as they stood gazing, 
there dropped from the bosom of these clouds thin, 
dark veils reaching from earth to sky. 

“ What is that ?” cried Green. 

“I don’t know, I’m sure,” answered Tom. “I 
never saw anything like that in St. Louis. Maybe 
it’s rain moving this way. Anyhow, the storm’ll be 
on us in a moment. Just look how it’s rushing 
towards us. It’s too late to start for the college. 
Where’ll we go to?” 

And as they set about answering this question the 
clouds came nearer and nearer. The whistling of the 
breeze that one moment before had seemed but to 
emphasize the silence, had risen to an angry scream. 

The four lads, wavering and irresolute, not know- 


104 


TOM PLAYFAIR. 


ing whither they should seek for shelter, presented 
a striking tableau as they paused there in the open. 

Tom stood with his legs apart and firmly braced. 
His hands were clasped behind his back ; and with 
his hat tilted so as to show a shock of thick black 
hair over his forehead, and his mouth pursed as 
though he were about to whistle, he raised his eyes 
in an unblinking gaze upon the angry clouds. Next 
him was Alec, pale, silent, with an awe-stricken look 
upon his fair face. He had put his arm through 
Tom’s, and clung to our little friend as a drowning 
man to a plank. Tom was Alec’s hero. Harry Quip 
was on the other side of Tom, the usual grin still 
lingering upon his merry face, and his hands thrust 
deep in his pockets. Green, who stood in advance 
of these, had become intensely pale.. His fingers 
were quivering, his breath came in gasps, ariO^he 
glanced over and over from sky to companions, from 
companions to sky. 

The first drops of rain began to patter about them, 
while the wind keeping time with the movement of 
the rain sent the trees before them bowing and sway- 
ing in a weird dance, all the more weird for the un- 
natural darkness that had fallen upon all nature. 

“ Hadn’t we better run?” asked Tom. 

“Yes,” said Green, eagerly. “Come on.” 

“I’m afraid, Tom, I can’t run,” said poor Alec. 
“ I feel weak and dizzy, and I’m so frightened.’ 

“Harry and John, go ahead,” said Tom. “I’ll 
stay with Alec.” 

“ No you don’t, Tom ” said Quip. “ If you stay, 
I stay.” 

“Come on. Quip,” implored Green, “they can 
look out for themselves.” 


TOM PLA YFAIR. 




105 


“ Go on yourself,” said Harry, speaking with some 
asperity. “You can take care of yourself, if you 
want to.” 

“ But I don’t want to be alone in this storm.” 

“Then stay here,” came the curt answer. 

“Halloa!” cried a voice, “why you’re smart boys 
for your age; you’ve chosen about the safest place 
around here. ” And John Donnel, out of breath with 
running, emerged from the woods and placed himself 
beside Green. 

“We came near running away,” said Tom. “We 
thought we could run through the woods and find 
some house to stay in till the storm blew over. We’re 
mighty glad to see you, John.” 

“ It’s lucky you stayed here. If the wind gets 
any worse the woods will be a dangerous place — fly- 
ing Branches and lightning and what not!” 

During this conversation, short as it was, rain and 
wind had grown worse. 

“Ugh! we’ll be drenched to the skin,” said Tom. 
“Why, halloa!” he added, “Alec is sick.” 

Alec had pillowed his face on Tom’s bosom, and 
before the exclamation was well out of Tom’s mouth, 
the poor child fainted. 

“ Here, give me the boy,” shouted Donnel (shout- 
ing had now become necessary as the ordinary tone 
of conversation). “I’ll fix him in a trice.” And 
John, as he spoke, took Alec in his arms, carried 
him to a soft bit of earth, and depositing him gently, 
threw open his collar. 

“Halloa, Green, what’s the matter ?” bawled Tom, 
attracted by the strange motions of the frightened 
boy. 


io6 


TOM PLAYFAIR. 


“I can’t stand here; I’ve got to run,” came the 
answer. 

Donnel raised his face. 

“Stay where you are,” he said sternly; “if you 
want to die young, run through those woods.” 

As he ceased speaking, there came a dazzling 
flash of lightning, followed almost instantaneously 
by a terrific clap of thunder. 

With a wild cry. Green dashed for the woods. 

*■ “Stop him, Tom,” cried Donnel, jumping to his 
feet, “stop him; he’s lost his wits.” 

Donnel, though many yards in the rear of both, 
had set forward in hot pursuit. As for Tom, he 
scarcely needed Donnel ’s bidding. Green had not 
fairly made a start when Tom was at his heels. 

Terror, they say, lends speed. But poor Green 
seemed to be an exception to this as to many other 
rules. He slipped several times, and once was within 
a little of losing his balance and falling to the earth. 
Indeed it seemed as though Tom, who was running 
at his best, would catch him before he reached the 
woods. But as Green drew nearer the dangerous 
shelter, he regained something of his customary 
speed; and Tom, who had thus far gained upon him, 
began to lose his advantage; Donnel, meanwhile, 
was lessening the distance between himself and Tom 
at every step. 

At length Green, in passing a tree that stood like 
a sentinel, guarding the main body of the w'oods, 
slipped again, and before he could well recover him- 
self, Tom had come within five feet of him. Then, 
just as the thoroughly frantic boy broke into his 
regular speed, Tom sprang into the air, alighted on 
Green’s back, and bore him to the ground. 


TOM PLA YFAIR. 


107 


And while they were still rolling upon the drenched 
earth, there was a sharp crack, like the report of a 
pistol discharged at one’s ear, a strange swishing 
sound, a crash as of many branches beating against 
each other ; and, twenty feet before them, there came 
crashing to the earth a giant oak. As it fell, a twig 
struck Tom in the face. 

In an instant, though dazed and bewildered, Tom 
had sprung to his feet. But Green rose only to his 
knees ; he was quivering with fear and beat his breast. 

“Spare me! spare me!” he cried. “I’llgotocon- 
fession this very night.” 

“Get up, will you?” bawled John Donnel, his 
voice rising high above the noises of the elements, 
as he caught Green by the shoulders, and dragged 
him to his feet. “ If you don’t move away from here, 
you’ll not have a chance to make a confession.” 
And without further words, John dragged him back 
into the open. Tom followed quietly ; even his face, 
it must be said, had paled a trifle. 

And there they stood motionless as statues, silent 
and awed for two or three minutes; there they stood 
till in the swiftness of its might the wind had flown 
by them, till the clouds had moved on to the western 
horizon, and left the sky above them perfectly clear, 
till, in fine, the storm had ceased with a suddenness 
befitting its violence. 

“ Well, it’s over and all is well, ” said John Donnel. 

“ I guess we had better run for college, John,” put 
in Tom, “and change our things, or we’ll get rheu- 
matism or small-pox, or something ugly. What’s 
the matter, Green?” 

Green pointed a quivering finger at the western 
sky. 


io8 


TOM PLA YFAIR, 


“ It is coming back. Those clouds have stopped 
moving.” 

“I guess we can beat ’em,” answered Tom. 
“ John, I’m awful glad you came. We’d have lost 
our heads, if it hadn’t been for you. How did you 
come to be around ?” 

“ I was hunting for snakes with Keenan, and we 
got separated ; you can rely upon it that George is 
safe in college by this time. Now boys, for a run 
home. Are you all right, Alec?” 

“Yes, sir,” said Alec, who had risen to his feet 
while the race between Green and Tom had been 
going on, “but I’m afraid I can’t run very fast.” 

“ Here, put your arm through mine,” said John. 

“And your other arm through mine,” added Tom, 
whose color had fully returned. 

In a very short time, indeed, they were changing 
their garments in the dormitory. 

Green uttered not a word till he was about to leave 
the room. Then he said: — 

“Tom, if you hadn’t jumped on my back and 
pulled me over, I’d be dead now. Ugh!” 

“Yes,” replied Tom, adjusting his tie with more 
than wonted precision; “and if I hadn’t tumbled 
over with you, I’d have been killed too. I was 
scared that time, I can tell you. But, of course, 
you weren’t scared.” Tom grinned as he waited for 
an answer. 

“Scared! I should think I was. Say, Tom, I 
was lying to you fellows about my not being afraid.” 

“You needn’t tell us that,” said Tom bluntly. 

“But I’m going to change; see if I don’t.” And 
Green left the dormitory and went straight to the 
chapel, leaving Tom and Alec alone. 


TOM PLAYFAIR, 


109 


“Well, Alec,” began Tom, who divined from the 
timid lad’s face that he wished to say something, 
“do you feel shaken?” 

“A little, Tom. Did you hear what Green said 
just after the storm?” 

“What did he say?” 

“ He said it was coming back.” 

“ Oh, well ! you know he was most scared out of 
his wits.” 

“ Tom, it is coming back.” 

“ Nonsense.” 

“Well, I feel as though something were about to 
happen. Wont you please pray for me ?” 

And Alec caught Tom’s hand and gazed into his 
countenance with a sweet pathos inexpressibly touch- 
ing. A beautiful face it was that met our hero’s, 
none the less beautiful for the modesty which nearly 
every minute of the day veiled the eyes, and sent 
the blood purpling the pale cheeks. Now, however, 
Alec’s eyes were wide open and fixed, oh, so appeal- 
ingly, upon Tom’s. And Tom, as he returned the 
gaze, was impressed with something which he could 
not define, but which brought home to him for the 
first time, that he was in the presence of a boy of 
extraordinary holiness and purity. 

“Why, of course I’ll pray for you, if you want me 
to. What’s up?” 

“ To-morrow, Tom, I finish making the nine First 
Fridays.” 

“Well, I don’t see why you want any praying 
for. I need it bad. I’ve done a lot of things that 
I hadn’t ought to.” 

“Yes; but you’ve done a lot of good, too. I was 


I lO 


TOM PLAYFAIR. 


so glad, Tom, when you spoke up to Green. You 
know how to talk.” 

“That’s what I’ve got a tongue for. But it was 
that falling tree which fetched him. He’ll behave 
decently for a week, I reckon.” 

Poor Alec looked as though he would say more ; 
but words and courage failed him. He again caught 
his friend’s hand, pressed it, then hurried from the 
dormitory with that indefinable expression which 
Tom had noticed before. 

Tom continued sitting on his bed for some 
moments longer. 

“I didn’t know that Alec Jones,” he soliloquized 
as he rose. “ I thought he was a little girl, but he’s 
a mighty good girl anyhow.” 

And with a grin on his face, he left the dormitory. 


CHAPTER XI. 

THE NIGHT OF THE FIRST FRIDA Y IN NOVEMBER. 

I T was ten of the night, and, though so late in 
the season, quite warm and extremely oppressive. 
Above, the clear sky was gemmed with stars. In 
the west hung a thick, black cloud; it had been 
motionless all the day. 

There was a hush over the dormitory. The feeble 
light of the lamp at the entrance was utterly insuffi- 
cient to limn the countenances of the slumberers 
lying beneath the cupola; and so it would have been 
difficult for any one to perceive that Tom Playfair, 
whose bed stood directly beneath the cupola, was 


TOM PLAYFAIR. 


Ill 


wide awake. With the single exception of the night 
when he undertook to exorcise Green, who, by the 
way, was now his right-hand neighbor, nothing like 
this had ever happened to him before. To his left 
lay Alec Jones; beyond him Harry Quip, and, last 
of the row, John Pitch. These five were grouped 
under and about the cupola. The other occupants 
were at the further end of the room, separated from 
this row of five by a space of some thirty odd feet. 
It will be convenient for the reader to keep these 
details in mind. 

Tom, as I have said, was awake. Perhaps a sense 
of novelty reconciled him to the situation ; for he lay 
very quiet. The subdued breathing of the sleepers 
was the only sound to break the stillness; without 
the winds were hushed, and no cry of man or bird 
or beast broke upon the brooding calm of the night. 

For fully half an hour, Tom, from their different 
modes of breathing, endeavored to place the various 
sleepers. He easily picked out Harry Quip’s, and, 
with more difficulty, John Pitch’s. At this point 
he grew weary of this new study, and cast about in 
his thoughts for some fresh diversion. It was hard 
upon eleven o’clock, when he concluded to arise, go 
to a window, and count the stars. 

As he was setting foot upon the floor, a silvery, 
sweet voice, with a sacred pathos in every tone, 
broke, or rather glorified, the silence. 

“My Jesus, mercy!” 

The invocation came from Alec. 

Tom bent down and gazed into the dreamer’s face. 
Even with the feeble light, he could perceive lines 
of terror upon the slight, delicate, innocent features. 

With a gentleness which, on recalling the inci- 


I 12 


TOM PLA VFAIR. 


dent afterwards, surprised Tom himself, he lightly 
patted the upturned cheek ; and forthwith the face 
grew strangely calm; a smile, tender yet so feeble 
that the facial muscles scarce changed, passed over 
it, and from the lips came the whispered, “ Sweet 
Heart of Jesus, be my love.” 

With his hand still resting on the sleeper’s cheek, 
Tom stood gazing upon the radiant face in mute 
admiration. 

“ Amen,” he whispered softly to himself. “ If ever 
I get to talking in my sleep, I hope I’ll do it that 
style.” 

He removed his hand ; Alec opened his eyes. 

“You’re all right, Alec,” explained Tom, bending 
low so as to whisper into the boy’s ear, “You got a 
hollering in your sleep, and I just passed my hand 
over your cheek. Go to sleep again. Goodnight.” 
And he held out his hand. 

“Good night, Tom.” And Alec drew his hand 
from the coverlet to clasp Tom’s, displaying, as he 
did so, his rosary twined about the fragile arm. 
Then very gently Alec fell into a calm slumber. 
Looking on such a face, it was hard to imagine that 
the world was full of wickedness and sin. 

Tom waited till he felt sure that Alec was sound 
asleep. Then he murmured to himself; 

“I guess I’ll count the stars now.” 

Walking over a-tiptoe to one of the western win- 
dows he looked out. He counted no stars that night. 
For the dismal, black cloud was now in motion, ad- 
vancing ominously, swiftly, in a direct line toward 
the small boy standing in his night-shirt at the 
window. 

“Whew!” whistled the would-be star-gazer. 


TOM PLAYFAIR. 


1^3 

“ Green and Alec were right after all. It U coming 
back.” 

Even as he spoke, the awful whisper of the ap- 
proaching storm could be heard; a whisper that 
lasted but for a moment, when it changed to a sigh, 
deepened into a groan, which grew louder, more 
violent, more threatening every second. 

“ It’s getting chilly too,” murmured Tom to him- 
self. “I guess I’ll hop into my pants.” 

And very quickly indeed, he was fully dressed — 
sailor-shirt, knickerbockers, stockings, everything 
save his tie and his shoes — and, with his usual calm- 
ness, returned to the window to watch and wait upon 
the turn of events. 

The patter of the rain upon the roof could now be 
distinctly heard, while far off from the east came the 
muffled thunder of some distant storm. In attempt- 
ing to take another look from the window, Tom 
happened to touch a wire fastening for the window- 
curtain. 

“Ouch!” he muttered, withdrawing his hand very 
quickly; and perhaps for the first time since his 
mother’s death, he became thoroughly frightened. 
A*queer feeling had passed through his whole body. 
What could it be? 

There was something wrong about things, and the 
mystery frightened him. He had received a sharp 
shock ; but he knew nothing of electricity. 

The beating of the rain, while Tom was still pon- 
dering, became louder and louder, and the boys be- 
gan to move uneasily in their beds; many, indeed, 
were now half awake. The wind, too, was howling 
about the house in a fury of power. 

Tom had just reached his bed, when a loud bang- 
8 


114 


TOM PLAYFAIR, 


ing noise brought every one in the room from the 
land of sleep; and a gust of rain came sweeping in, 
thoroughly drenching Tom’s bed. Ah! that ne- 
glected bolt. The door of the cupola had flown open, 
and was now flapping noisily against the lightning- 
rod. 

As with noisy recurrence it opened and shut, Tom 
caught a glimpse of the stars on the clear eastern 
horizon, and almost directly overhead that black, 
sinister cloud, hanging like a curse over St. Maure’s. 

Even while he was taking in this strange aspect 
of the heavens, the water had formed into several 
pools upon the floor. Quip, Jones, Green, and Pitch, 
all of them with appalled faces, had grouped them- 
selves beside Tom. No wonder they were alarmed; 
the frightful banging of the door, coupled with the 
fierce beat of the sheeted rain, was an overtax on 
the nerves of the boldest. 

“Oh, Tom!” chattered Green,“I’m glad I went to 
Holy Communion this morning.” 

“ So’m I,” answered Tom. “ Say, boys, I’m going 
to shut that door, even if I do get a ducking. Good- 
by.” And he made a dash at the ladder. 

Unmindful of the rain which almost blinded him, 
he succeeded at length in securing a hold on the door. 
But pull and tug as he might, the wind, now at its 
height, held its own; till at last, in a sudden lull, 
the door yielded to his efforts. 

“ Now, if I could only get my hand on that 
bolt—” 

He never finished this sentence. For as he was 
still groping about for the knob, the wind in a sud- 
den rise sent the door flying from his grasp. There 
was a sharp, clanging sound, and the dull noise of 


TOM PLAYFAIR. 


some heavy object beating upon the roof; and, as the 
door, torn from its hinges, pulled the lightning-rod 
down from the cupola, Tom lost his balance, and 
was thrown backwards from his perch. Happily for 
himself, he was flung upon his bed, whence he rolled 
to the floor. 

Two boys assisted him to rise, and gazed anxiously 
into his face. 

On that occasion Tom, far from being stunned, 
was unusually awake to every impression. His senses 
had become sharpened; and as he rose to his feet 
he took in the whole scene. At the other end of the 
dormitory stood huddled together all the boys save 
Harry, Pitch, Alec, and Green. The prefect was 
just advancing from the group towards them. Tom 
could see all this, for the simple reason that a cas- 
socked figure — he recognized the President of the 
college — had just entered with a lamp that lighted 
the whole room. 

The two who had lifted him to his feet were Jones 
and Green. Upon the face of Alec there still dwelt 
that sweet expression, brought from dreamland, but 
softened and beautified in a new way by concern for 
Tom’s safety. Green’s face had strangely changed. 
All the roughness had gone out of it. Awe and pity 
— awe at the storm, pity for Tom — had touched it 
into refinement. 

All this, I say, Tom took notice of, as they raised 
him to his feet. 

“You’re not hurt, old fellow, are you?’’ inquired 
Green earnestly. 

“ Not a bit.” 

“Thank God!’’ murmured Alec. 

“ I’m glad I went this morning,’’ said Green. 


TOM PLAYFAIR. 


1 16 

“Tom,” said Harry, “we’ll help you pull your 
bed away.” 

“ Oh, it’s no use getting drenched the way I 
am.” 

“We don’t mind that,” said Green, and he and 
Alec sprang forward towards Tom’s bed. 

They had not taken two steps, when there came a 
dazzling flash of light. Tom fell violently to the 
floor, pillowed upon the body of some one who had 
fallen before him, where he lay motionless, yet con- 
scious, and with a feeling as though every muscle 
and fibre of his body had been wrenched asunder — 
lay there gazing up into a sky now suddenly brilliant 
with stars, into a rainless sky with not a cloud to mar 
its tranquil beauty. 

The storm was over. 

And as he fell the President’s lamp had gone out, 
and in the dazzling brilliancy of that awful flash he 
had seen four boys standing under the cupola go 
plunging forward violently to the floor, while the 
smell as of burnt powder and of ozone pervaded the 
whole apartment. Then, almost simultaneously in- 
deed, came a deafening noise. To the President’s 
ears it sounded like the explosion of a powder mag- 
azine at his side. But he knew that it was not an 
explosion of powder; he knew too well that it was 
the thunder following the lightning flash which had 
stricken down his boys before his very eyes; and, in 
the dread hush and darkness that followed, the Pres- 
ident’s voice, clear and firm, filled the room with 
the words of sacramental absolution, as, raising his 
hand and making the sign of the cross, he said: — 

“ Ego VOS absolvo a peccatis vestris in nomine Patris 
et Filii et Spiritus Sancti. AmenP 


TOM PLAYFAIR. 


I17 

“ I absolve you from your sins, in the name of 
the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost. 
Amen.” 

The presiding prefect had, in the mean time, re- 
lighted the dormitory lamp (which had also gone 
out in the shock of the lightning stroke), and was 
now standing beside his superior. 

“ Boys,” continued the latter, who in the dim light 
perceived several moving forms, “ take your clothes 
on your arm, and leave this room quietly, one by 
one. Go to the infirmary; the storm is now over, 
and there’s not the least danger.” 

On occasions such as this the panic does not im- 
mediately follow the catastrophe. Between the 
two there is always a lull — a time when the imagi- 
nation of each is charging itself with the real- 
ization of what has passed, with the picturing of 
what may come. That done, the panic takes its 
course. 

The president had taken the right time for speak- 
ing. Had he lost his head for one moment, there 
would have ensued, in all probability, a frightful 
scene. But his calmness gained the mastery over all. 
Quietly, noiselessly, with pitiful faces, the boys 
passed down the stairs. How eagerly he counted 
them. It was the most trying period of his long 
life. 

Six passed. 

Three more — nine. 

Three more — twelve. The last was the prefect. 

Then there was a silence. 

His senses, then, had not deceived him. Five had 
been struck by lightning. 

He had relighted his lamp, and now hastened to 


TOM PLA YFAIR. 


ii8 

the other end. Tom, his eyes closed, lay with his 
head pillowed upon Green’s body; near him Alec 
Jones, calm — so quiet! Beyond was Quip, breath- 
ing heavily with an ugly gash upon his face. Pitch 
was in a sitting posture, murmuring incoherent 
words. 

“Tom!” cried the President, stooping down, and 
catching the boy’s hand. 

The eyes opened. 

“Yes, sir; I’m all right; what’s happened?” 

The president made a slight gesture, and bent over 
Green. No need to listen for the breath that never 
would return. He moved over to Alec Jones, and a 
stifled sob burst from his bosom. Green and Jones 
had been instantly killed; had never heard the crash 
that followed the dazzling stroke; had been called 
before God — that God whom they had received at 
the morning Mass into their bosoms. It was the 
First Friday. 

Tom’s wet garments had saved him. The elec- 
tricity had taken its way through his clothes instead 
of through himself. But he did not know at the 
moment that he had passed forth free from the jaws 
of death; for not one of those now remaining in the 
dormitory, save the President, was aware that the 
power which sent them stunned to the floor was the 
awful power of the thunderbolt. 


TOM FLA YFAIR, 


II9 


CHAPTER XII. 

TOM'S MIDNIGHT ADVENTURE. 

TJ ARRY— are you hurt ? 

1 1 Tom was bending over Harry Quip. But 
there came no answer. The president touched Tom 
lightly on the shoulder. 

“Playfair,” he said, “can I trust you to keep 
cool ? ” 

“Yes, sir! if you just tell me what’s happened. 
There was a queer feeling went through me just now, 
and something seemed to burn my right leg.” 

“ The house has been struck by lightning, and you 
received a slight shock. Harry Quip got a worse 
one, and Green and Jones are seriously injured. You 
and Pitch might remove Harry to a bed over there ; 
but don’t tell him, when he comes to, what’s hap- 
pened to the others, and be sure not to show him a 
long face, or you’ll frighten him.” 

“Catch hold of his head, Johnny,” said Tom. 
With tender care, they conveyed poor Harry to the 
nearest bed; while the president, still cherishing a 
faint hope in his heart, eagerly sought to discover 
some signs of life in Green and Jones. 

Harry, shortly after being placed upon the bed, 
gave signs of consciousness. 

“ Halloa, Harry,” cried Tom, forcing a grin. 

“ Tom ! ” Harry gave a gasp. 

“Yes; it’s me; and you’re all right, old boy.” 

“ Wh — what’s happened ? ” 


120 


TOM FLA YFAIR. 


“An electric machine got loose, or something,” re- 
plied our ingenious hero, “ and spilled itself on top 
of us. They let you have it at fairs for five cents a 
head.” 

But even this comic view of the situation failed to 
win a smile from Harry. 

“ Where’s my leg ? ” he gasped. 

“ Both your legs are screwed on in the right place.” 

“ No; my right leg’s gone.” 

Tom caught the right leg and lifted it into full 
view. 

“ How does that strike you ? ” 

“ But I don’t feel it.” 

“Well, catch hold of it, then; it won’t come off. 
You gave me an awful kick with it just a moment 
ago. 

“I’m choking,” continued Harry. 

“If you were, you couldn’t talk.” 

“But I can’t swallow. Oh!” And Harry looked 
more and more frightened. 

“ Who the mischief asked you to swallow ? It isn’t 
breakfast time yet, and there’s nothing to eat round 
here, anyhow.” 

The infirmarian, who had entered at the beginning 
of this conversation, and who, having satisfied him- 
self that Green and Jones were dead, had now come 
to Harry’s side, here broke in. 

“Playfair, we want the doctor at once. Run down- 
stairs to the room on the next floor where the brothers 
sleep. They are dressing now to come up here and 
lend us help. Take the first one you meet, or the 
one that’s nearest dressed, and tell him to hurry off 
after the doctor: we want him for Harry Quip.” 

Waiting for no second bidding, Tom, followed by 


TOM FLA YFAIR. 


I2I 


Pitch, hurried from the dormitory. Luckily they 
met a brother who was just coming up the stairs: 
and as the house clock struck twelve, Tom delivered 
his message. 

“I’ll have the doctor here within half an hour,” 
said the brother, turning about at once. 

“ I’m coming along. Brother George.” 

“ No: you’d better go to sleep.” 

“ I couldn’t sleep now, brother. Oh, please let me 
go.” 

Brother George made no answer, and Tom, taking 
silence for consent, followed after him. As a matter 
of course. Pitch clung to his leader. 

Once out of doors, they sped through the garden, 
and took the high-road leading to St. Maure’s. Sud- 
denly their course was arrested, for a most unprece- 
dented thing had come to pass. There was an in- 
significant creek flowing past the college and down 
to the river. Ordinarily it was very shallow, but 
the furious rain of the preceding day and the past 
hour had caused it to swell into a muddy torrent. 
Worst of all, there was no sign of the bridge. 

“ The bridge has been swept away! ” cried Tom. 

“I wish I could swim,” said Brother George. 
“Boys, you remain here, and I’ll go to one of the 
houses on this side and get help.” 

Scarcely had he turned his back upon them when 
Tom pulled off his shoes, stockings, and sailor shirt. 

“ What are you going to do, Tom ? ” 

“ Didn’t you hear the brother say he’d swim it if 
he could. I can swim that far.” 

“ Oh, but it’s an awful current. You’ll be carried 
down to the river.” 

Tom gazed at the swirling stream, apparently 


122 


TOM PLA YFAIR. 


some fifty feet wide, moving in all the swing of a 
torrent at his feet. 

“I’ll bet I won’t,” he said presently. “Anyhow, 
I’m willing to take a risk for old Quip. Here, 
Johnny, just lend me your scap’lers. I haven’t been 
rolled in them yet; but it won’t hurt me to wear ’em. 
I think I’d better start higher up so as to land about 
here on the other side.” 

Having put Pitch’s scapulars about his neck, Tom 
ran some distance up stream. 

“Now, Pitch, good-by. Shake hands. It’s a 
risk, you know. If anything happens, you send word 
to my father and my aunt that I had the scap’lers on. ” 

Tom was decidedly of the opinion that this bit of 
information would make up for anything that might 
occur. So, somewhat serious, yet light and bold of 
heart, he slipped into the water. 

He took one step forward, and found himself up 
to his waist ; another step, and caught by the current 
he was whirled down stream like a cork. But this 
cork had legs and arms, and struck out vigorously 
for the shore. Vigorous as were his strokes, how- 
ever, he felt almost at once that he would in any 
event be carried far down stream before reaching the 
other shore. For all that, he struck out bravely, 
beating the water with over-hand stroke. Tom, at 
this period of his life, was by no means an expert 
swimmer. He had attended a swimming-school sev- 
eral times a week during the last summer, and had 
succeeded in learning to swim a short distance and 
to float on his back. But he knew nothing of swim- 
ming with the current, and, in consequence, quickly 
expended his strength. Before he had gone two- 
thirds of the distance across he was worn out. But 


TOM FLA YFAIR. 


123 


his presence of mind did not desert him. Murmur- 
ing a prayer, he turned over on his back, and, mov- 
ing his feet gently, he suffered himself to be carried 
along. He had not drifted far, when his body came 
in contact with something a few feet below the water. 
Turning instantly he secured a hold on it with his 
hands. 

“ Hurrah! ” he shouted to Pitch. “ I’m all right. 
I’ve found the railing of the bridge. It’s only about 
two feet under water.” 

And clinging to this, Tom made his way hand over 
hand, as it were, to the opposite shore. 

Dr. Mullan was not a little surprised when he 
opened his front door three minutes later upon a boy 
arrayed in the simplicity of undershirt and knicker- 
bockers, who was battering away at his door with a 
log of wood as though he would burst it open. 

“ Oh, doctor, our college has been struck by light- 
ning. Three fellows are badly hurt, and you’re 
wanted there right off.” 

“John! ” bawled the doctor, “saddle my horse at 
once. Come in, boy; you’ll need a doctor, too, if 
you don’t look out. How did you wet yourself ?” 

“ I couldn’t find the bridge, sir, and I tried to swim 
across. I found it then, or I reckon I’d be in the 
river by this time.” 

The doctor’s wife, who had caught these words, 
now came forward, and kissing Tom in true motherly 
style — an action which Tom, in his state of excite- 
ment, took no notice of — drew off his undershirt, 
and threw her own cloak about him. 

“That’s just the thing, Mary,” put in Dr. Mullan. 
“ Now get him a small glass of brandy, while I 
put him to bed. 


124 


TOM TLA YFAIR. 


“Oh, I say,” cried Tom. “ I’m not sick: you go 
off and take care of the fellows that need you.’” 

Returning no answer to this expostulation, the 
doctor pushed Tom into his own sleeping-room, and 
without further ceremony pulled off our young swim- 
mer’s knickerbockers, and proceeded to rub him 
down vigorously. 

“Ouch,” cried Tom, suddenly. 

“Why, boy, you’re burnt.” 

The doctor was gazing at a spot on Tom’s right 
knee about the form and size of the human heart. 

“ I thought there was something the matter when 
I pulled off my stocking: that’s where the electricity 
took me.” 

“ Were you struck, too? ” 

“I think so; I went tumbling over as if I was 
paralyzed. That burn isn’t much. ” 

“It’s good it’s no more.” And the doctor, who 
had opened a medicine chest, applied an ointment to 
the spot, bandaged it, and had Tom wrapped warm 
in his own bed before his wife entered the room with 
the glass of brandy. 

“ Now, boy, these are your orders. You stay in 
this bed till nine o’clock to-morrow. By keeping 
quiet, you’ll escape the consequences of over-excite- 
ment and over-exertion. You understand ? ” 

“But, doctor, I can’t sleep.” 

“You can, though. Mary, if this boy doesn’t go 
to sleep in ten minutes, give him a teaspoonful of 
this. Now good-by.” 

The doctor, aided by the directions of Pitch and 
the brother, easily found the bridge, and made the 
college in a few minutes. Jones and Green gave 
him no trouble: they were beyond doctors’ skill 


TOM FLA VFAIR. 


125 


— had been from the moment the bolt touched 
them. 

But for the rest of the night he was busy nursing 
and warming and rubbing poor Harry’s legs into 


life. 


Tom, meanwhile, under the influence of an opiate, 
slept a dreamless sleep, watched over with loving 
care by a gentle woman. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

IN WHICH TOM TAKES A TRIP. 

S this story concerns Thomas Playfair and only 



ii incidentally the history of St. Maure’s, the reader 
will be spared the sad details concerning the night 
of the catastrophe, and of the ensuing days of 
mourning. 

Tom, whom we have to do with, was conducted 
to the infirmary Saturday morning by the doctor in 
person. 

“Brother,” he said to the infirmarian, “here’s a 
boy who’s to get complete rest for the next seven or 
eight days.” 

Tom, who was standing behind the doctor and the 
infirmarian, smiled genially, raised his right leg, and, 
while balancing himself on his left, waved it spas- 
modically. 

“Just look at him,” continued the doctor, turning 
sharply and catching him in the act; “ he’s trying to 
knock his burned leg against something even now.” 

“No, I ain’t,” protested the discomfited acrobat, 
bringing his foot to the floor; “ I’m not a fool.” 


TOM PLA YFAIR. 


1 26 

Whereupon he resumed his smile: the rogue knew 
that Harry Quip would be his companion. 

“Of course, brother,” pursued the man of medi- 
cine, “you are to diet him.” 

Tom’s face fell. 

“ Diet me! with what, doctor ? ” 

“With a boat-hook,” answered the grave practi- 
tioner without showing the least sign of a twinkle in 
his eye. He added in a lower tone to the infirma- 
rian: “ Three pieces toast and tea for breakfast, same 
for supper, with beef-tea instead of tea for dinner.” 

Tom overheard him. 

“ I say,” he broke in, “ I’m not sick. I want to go 
to school, and keep up with my class.” 

“You can’t go out for a week, sir; and if you 
don’t keep your legs quiet. I’ll not let you out for 
two weeks. Now, remember, young fellow, no hop- 
ping over beds, no skipping, no jumping about the 
room, no running. When you have to walk, walk 
slowly. But the best thing you can do is to keep 
perfectly quiet.” 

“Oh, pshaw!” 

Tom was disgusted. Even Quip, jolly as ever, 
though battered, could not reconcile him to his im- 
prisonment. Nor did he become more reconciled as 
the days passed. — After swallowing his toast, he was 
wont to seek out the infirmarian. 

“Brother,” he would say, “I think I’m ready for 
breakfast now.” 

“ I just brought it to you.” 

“What! you call that a breakfast? Look here, 
brother. I’m paid for.” 

The brother would answer with a grin, and Tom 
would turn away growling. 


TOM PLAYFAIR, 127 

On Saturday of the following week he received a 
letter which elicited a whoop from him. 

“ What are you howling about now ? ” asked Quip, 
who with the exception of a slight bruise and a 
touch of stiffness, was as well as ever. 

“Read it yourself,” cried Tom, tossing the letter 
to Harry, and hopping about the room in an ecstasy 
of joy. 

Thus the letter ran: 

St. Louis, Nov. 6th, 18—. 

Master Thomas Playfair: 

Dear Son . — Have just heard from president of college 
fuller details of calamity, and of your sickness. Hear, too, that 
you have been changing for the better — got more sense — more 
faithful to your duty — study harder. Glad to learn, too, that you 
are brave, tho’ far too reckless. Best of all, I’m told that your 
company is good. 

Although president pronounces you quite well, he thinks that 
a few weeks’ rest and change might be safe, as nervous shocks 
are likely to leave after-effects. 

As I wrote you last September, your uncle has gone to Cincin- 
nati, where, as he says, he is studying law. In a few days I 
shall be compelled to go there on business, and your aunt has 
already made an engagement to see a friend there. 

Start for Cincinnati at once. Will telegraph your uncle to meet 
you at depot. Have advised president to procure you through 
ticket, and enclose you twenty-five dollars for pocket money. 

Good-by till we meet, and God bless you. 

Your father, George Playfair. 

At half-past two that afternoon Tom, standing on 
the platform of a car, waved his handkerchief to his 
playmates as the train shot past the college. 

Kansas City was reached fifteen minutes after 
scheduled time; and Tom, who had been counting 
for the last three hours on a grand lunch at the rail- 
road depot, was obliged to hurry from his car to the 
Cincinnati train in order to make connections. 


128 


TOM PLA YFAIR. 


But here his forced patience was rewarded. 

“ Ladies and gents! ” shouted a fat little man, who 
seemed to be in a perpetual state of breathlessness, 
“a dining-car is attached to this train; and supper, 
with all the delicacies of the season, is now served.” 

“How much?” inquired Tom, catching the fat 
man’s sleeve, and fastening upon him one of the 
most earnest gazes the fat man had ever encountered. 

“ Seventy-five cents cash without any chromo. Do 
you want to come in for half price ? Do you take 
us for a circus ? ” The fat man was chuckling be- 
tween each word. 

“ Pshaw! Is that all ? Why, mister, I’d be willing 
to lay out five dollars on a square meal. You’re 
going to lose on me this trip. I’ve got a whole week 
to make up for.” 

“Come right along, then,” said the fat n^an. 

And Tom needed no second bidding. 

A negro with an austere face and a white apron 
moved a chair for Tom, and, handing him the menu^ 
waited for the order. 

Tom’s brows knitted as he read the bewildering 
list — a sort of macaronic out of rhyme and metre. 

“I say, couldn’t you let me have a program in 
English of this entertainment.” 

The negro, changing his austere expression not 
one whit, rattled forth — 

“ Chicken roast or boiled, chicken salad.; eggs 
fried, poached, boiled, omelette with jelly if preferred ; 
beefsteak, lamb, mutton chops, veal, ham, sausages; 
potatoes, fried, boiled, Saratoga chips; tomatoes 
raw, egg-plant, baked beans, apple and custard pie, 
coffee, cream, tea, and bananas.” 

“That’ll do, I think,” said Tom: “fetch ’em in.” 


TOM FLA YFAIR, 


129 


The waiter changed expression. 

“ Fetch in which ? ” 

“Those things you were singing out.” 

The waiter scratched his head. 

“ Look here,” said Tom, confidentially. “ I haven’t 
had a square meal for a week. A doctor’s been prac- 
tising on me, till I’m nearly ruined. Now, you just 
go to work and get me lots to eat ; get me a good 
square meal, and I’ll give you fifty cents for your- 
self.” 

There wasn’t a sign of austerity on the negro’s 
face as he hurried away. Tom was served with a 
meal fit for a starving prince. And he did it justice. 

The negro, stationed behind him, could scarce 
credit his eyes. Nothing equal to Tom’s perform- 
ances had ever come under his observation. Tom, 
ignorant of the admiration he had excited, plied knife 
and fork in a quiet, determined way, wishing in his 
heart that the doctor and infirmarian could see him. 
It would be a sweet revenge. 

“Come here,” whispered the waiter to one of his 
fellows; “this young chap won’t be able to get up. 
He’ll bust.” 

However, after three-quarters of an hour’s steady 
attention to the matter in hand, Tom arose quite 
calmly (whereupon four waiters, who had been view- 
ing his performance from behind, and expressing 
their wonder in dumb shows, slipped quietly away) 
and, making a huge sign of the cross, returned thanks 
for his meal. 

“I said my ‘prayers after meals’ three times,” 
he remarked confidentially to the waiter as he gave 
him one dollar and twenty-five cents, “because I 
think I got in at least three suppers.” 

9 


130 


TOM PLA YFAIR, 


Tom ought to have been sick that night. He 
should have suffered intensely. 

The doctors and story books are at one on this 
point. All the same, he retired early and slept a 
dreamless sleep which lasted for over nine hours. 

And if the recording angel put any one on the 
black list for gluttony on that particular day, I am 
inclined to think it was the doctor, and not the patient. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

IN WHICH TOM GOES TO THE THE A TRE, 

S HORTLY after seven o’clock of the following 
morning the brakeman, throwing open the door 
of the Pullman car, bawled out what sounded like 
“Hydrostatic,” but was really intended to convey 
the correct railroad pronunciation of Cincinnati. 

Tom seized his valise and hurried through the car 
into the depot. 

“Why, Tommy!” cried our old (or young) friend 
Mr. Meadow, rushing up and catching Tom’s dis- 
engaged hand, “ welcome to Cincinnati ; glad to see 
you. And you look so well! You’ve grown, too, 
and you’re improved ever so much.” 

“I’m real glad to see you, uncle,” said Tom, re- 
turning the hearty hand-shake with no less hearti- 
ness, “indeed I am. You’ve changed, too. Your 
mustache is very plain now — isn’t it ? And you’re 
dressed awful stylishly. I’m glad I’ve my new 
clothes on, or I’d feel ashamed to walk with you. 
How do you like Cincinnati ? ” 


TOM FLA YFAIR. 


131 

“It’s a splendid place, Tommy,” answered Mr. 
Meadow as they walked out of the depot and made 
toward a street-car. “ The people are very nice ; 
and there’s more amusement here than in St. Louis.” 

Tom took a stealthy side-glance at his uncle. Oh, 
these little boys! Some of them read characters with 
an intuition which humbles the widest experience. 

“ Yes ! but I thought you came here to study law. ” 

“So I did; but I’m kept so busy that I haven’t 
settled down yet.” 

“You look heavy round the eyes, as if you stayed 
up late, uncle.” 

“Yes; I suffer from insomnia a great deal,” an- 
swered Mr. Meadow, puzzled to find that he was 
annoyed under Tom’s innocent analysis. “How 
have you been doing since you left St. Louis? ” 

“Pretty well, uncle. I made a bad start; but 
now I’m doing better. You see, uncle, I’m trying 
to get ready to make my First Communion.” 

“ Indeed!” 

“ Yes. I hope it will be the happiest day of my 
life.” 

A few earnest, sympathetic words from Mr. Meadow 
at this juncture might have raised their mutual 
relations to a higher level. But Mr. Meadow did 
not understand boys. His influence on Tom, in 
consequence, was bad. He said: 

“ Here’s our car; jump on. Tommy.” 

His chance was gone. He noticed a strange ex- 
pression on Tom’s face; it was as though the boy 
had received a blow. Now, there was nothing in the 
words of the uncle to produce this effect; but in our 
mutual relations there is something more potent than 
words. Manner, expression, and sympathy, or the 


132 


TOM PLAYFAIR. 


want of it, are the chief causes that go towards gain- 
ing or losing our influence upon one another. Mr. 
Meadow felt that a wall of separation had at once 
arisen between himself and his nephew; that their 
intercourse hereafter was to be on the surface. 

He fell into a train of reflection suggested by this 
incident, and, while Tom, with the lively interest of a 
boy in a strange city, took note of everything in his 
new surroundings, the uncle maintained silence till, 
at a signal from him, the car stopped at a street- 
crossing. 

“Here we are, Tom; jump off, and we’ll be just 
in time for supper.’’ 

Walking to an adjoining square, Mr. Meadow 
pointed to a cheerful two-story building. 

“ Is that your house, uncle ? ’’ 

“ That’s where I board; all the rooms in the upper 
floor are mine.’’ 

As Mr. Meadow had remarked, they were in time 
for supper, at which meal, owing to the fact that 
two young ladies with their father and mother were 
present, Tom was content to eat little, and contrib- 
ute his share to the conversation by an occasional 
“ yes’m ’’ and “ no, mem,” which, as he directed either 
reply indiscriminately to either sex, did not serve to 
set him at his ease, though it sent the young ladies 
into a series of giggles, till Tom, through sheer force 
of indignation, recovered both tongue and appetite, to 
the admiration of all present. 

After supper, Mr. Meadow proposed the theatre. 
Tom was delighted with the suggestion, and an hour 
later both were seated in the pit of a close building, 
waiting for the curtain to rise. 

Tom, it must be confessed, was somewhat aston- 


TOM TLA YFAIR. 


133 


ished at his surroundings. The audience failed to 
impress him favorably; and the sight of waiters hurry- 
ing about with their trays did not suit his ideas at all. 

“ Is this a first-class theatre, uncle ? ” 

“Yes; that is, it’s a first-class variety. Would you 
like a glass of beer or soda before the show begins ? ” 

“Naw,” said Tom, his disgust entering into and 
distorting his pronunciation : and he wished at that 
moment that he were back at St. Maure’s. 

The curtain presently lifted, and for an hour or 
so he tried to enjoy jigs, comic songs, and what was 
announced on the program as a “screaming farce.” 
But he found it weary work keeping amused. The 
atmosphere, too, soon gave him a headache. Mr. 
Meadow seemed to be perfectly happy. Tom glanced 
at him curiously. 

“I’m glad I’m not made that way,” he thought. 
“If this whole business isn’t what Mr. Middleton 
calls unhealthy, then I’m pretty stupid. It’s coarse 
and vulgar.” 

“Say, uncle,” he resumed aloud, as the curtain 
fell upon the “ screaming farce ” — screaming actors 
would be truer — “I’m getting a headache, and, if 
you’ve no objection. I’ll go outside and take a breath 
of fresh'air for a while.” 

Now, Mr. Meadow was very dry, and desirous 
also of conversing between the acts with a few 
young men, whom he did not purpose introducing to 
Tom. So he caught eagerly at the opportunity. 

“ Certainly, Tommy. Here’s a dollar to buy some 
candy. Don’t go far; and come back soon.” 

“All right, uncle.” 

Tom went out ; as the next chapter will show he 
never entered the theatre again. 


TOM PLA VPA/P. 


^34 


CHAPTER XV. 

m WHICH TOM IS LOST. 

T om was at last free to follow his bent. From 
the moment he had left St. Maure’s to the pres- 
ent he had had “ no fun,” to use his own expression. 

Now that he was rid of Mr. Meadow, he was deter- 
mined to make the best of the opportunity. Nor did 
the question of ways and means trouble him. In the 
matter of amusement Tom, like every well-consti- 
tuted small boy, was of unfailing resource. 

“Say,” he began to the ticket-seller, “ Tm going 
out: how’ll I get back? ” 

“You can take a carriage,” said the facetious 
ticket-seller, ‘‘if you don’t care about walking.” 

Tom returned his grin. 

“I mean how’ll I get back without paying over 
again ? ” 

“Oh, here’s a check, Johnnie. How are you en- 
joying the performance ? ” 

“It’s made me glad to get out,” and without 
waiting for the ticket-seller’s retort, Tom, satisfied 
that he had squared accounts, sallied forth into the 
night, and cast his eyes about in search of a confec- 
tionery. 

The street was brilliant with electric lights. Every 
variety of store seemed to be in the neighborhood 
of the theatre. Two saloons across the way sand- 
wiched between them an oyster-house ; and stretch- 
ing to either side were shops of many kinds, all open 
and all seemingly driving a busy trade. 


TOM FLA VTA IT. 


135 


Tom took a long look at the saloons. He was 
impressed, not favorably indeed, with the number of 
men in each. 

“Pshaw! ” he muttered. “It makes me feel like 
taking the pledge for life.” 

He had scarcely made this reflection when his 
attention was arrested by the sight of a small boy, 
who, with a bundle of papers under his arm, passed 
one of the saloons, and, pausing in front of the oys- 
ter-house, stood gazing in through the large show- 
glass. 

Tom was growing lonesome. With a hop and a 
bound he crossed the street, and noiselessly placed 
himself behind the newsboy. 

The object of his attention was a lad of little more 
than eleven. He was neatly but scantily attired. 
The sleeves of his jacket and knees of his knicker- 
bockers were patched, and his shoes were open at 
the toes. The face was quite beautiful, beautiful 
with some hint of refinement, all the more beautiful, 
perhaps, that it was touched and softened by sad- 
ness. But the eyes — large and black — how eagerly 
they looked into that window! 

Tom was satisfied with the inspection. He put 
himself alongside the newsboy, and set to staring in 
himself. 

“ Paper, sir ? “ said the boy. 

“ What paper ? ” 

“ or Times- Star. “ 

“ How much ? “ 

“ Two cents for the Star^ sir, and one cent for the 
Post^ sir.” 

“You needn’t talk to me as if I was your father,” 
said Tom. “I’ll tell you what I’ll do, Johnnie: I’ll 


136 


TOmM PLAYFAIR. 


take a copy of each and give you a dime for ’em if 
you’ll tell me your name.” 

“Thank you, sir: my name’s Arthur Vane,” and 
Arthur received Tom’s ten-cent piece with unmistak- 
able signs of gratitude. 

“And my name’s Tom Playfair; just drop that 
‘sir,’ and call me Tom. I’m glad to meet a fellow 
my own size. I haven’t talked to a boy for three 
days; and grown people are so tireso'me! ” 

Arthur here smiled, and the twinkle in his eye 
evinced that for all his sadness he was naturally a 
merry lad. 

“I think,” he put in, “that it might be better if 
you could get boys of your own class in life to talk 
with you.” 

“Just listen to him,” said Tom, apostrophizing the 
oyster shop, “ talking to me as if I wasn’t an Ameri- 
can — why, Arthur, I’m a Democrat.” 

“But your mother and father mightn’t like it,” 
said Arthur, very much astonished with his new ac- 
quaintance. 

“My father’s in St. Louis,” answered Tom, “and 
my mother’s in heaven. And what’s more, you’re 
just as well up in talk as most boys of your size ; and 
it’s my opinion that you haven’t been on the streets 
very long, either. I took a good look at you before 
I came up, and I’ll bet anything you’re not used to 
taking care of yourself.” 

“You’re right, Tom: I’ve been supporting myself 
and little sister for only two months. Papa died 
when he came here, and left us only a little money.” 

“ A little sister, too ! ” 

“Yes, Tom; poor little Kate has been very sick. 


TOM PLA YFAIP. 


137 


but now she’s almost well. She’s in charge of the 
kind sisters.” 

Instead of continuing the conversation, Tom caught 
Arthur by the shoulders and bending down stared 
straight into his eyes. 

‘‘See here,” he began after a pause. “Can you 
remember the last time you got a square meal ? ” 

The lustrous-eyed boy with the pale, thin face 
smiled again. 

“ I had a pretty good meal yesterday. But to-day 
I’ve had hard luck. This morning I was stuck.” 

“ On the Latin verb or a pitchfork, or what ? ” 
queried Tom. 

Arthur laughed again. 

“ That’s a newsboy’s term, Tom: we’re ‘stuck’ 
when we buy papers and have a lot left unsold.” 

“Oh, that’s it. So you didn’t get a square meal 
to-day ? ” 

“ I had a plate of soup and two pieces of bread at 
noon.” 

“ How much ? ” asked Tom. 

“ Six cents.” 

“Whew! think of a little boy going around with 
six-cents’ worth of provisions — say, Arthur, do you 
like oysters ? ” 

“ Oh, don’t I ? ” exclaimed Arthur with enthusiasm. 

“ I thought you meant something by looking in 
through that window. It’s the same way with me,” 
continued Tom, gravely. “ I’m uncommonly fond of 
oysters myself, and so are all my friends. Now I’ll 
treat. You go right in, and order all you want. 
Here’s a dollar. Is that enough ? ” 

“ I’d like to take it,” said Arthur, looking wistfully 
at the money. “ But I can’t. It isn’t fair.” 


i38 


TOM PLAVFAIJ^. 


“But it is fair, “ answered Tom. “YouTe worth 
a dollar to me, and more. O Arthur, you don’t 
know how tired I am of hearing grown folks talking 
about elections and stocks and bonds. That’s all 
I’ve been listening to for three days. It’s terrible. 
It got so bad that I felt like praying never to grow 
up.” 

After further words, Arthur consented to take fifty 
cents. He was about to enter the oyster-house, when 
Tom snatched his bundle of papers. 

“ What are you up to now, Tom ? ” 

“I’ll keep the business going at the old stand: 
while you’re eating I’ll sell.” And without waiting 
for remonstrance, Tom darted away. 

“Here you are,” he shouted, putting in his head 
at the saloon to his right; “all the evening papers 
with all the news about the elections and stocks and 
bonds.” 

“Elections! where?” exclaimed a portly gentle- 
man, holding a glass in suspense. 

“ Don’t know, sir. There’s always news about 
elections in the paper.” 

The gentleman smiled, and, joining in the laugh at 
his expense, bought a paper, and insisted on several 
of his companions following his example. 

Tom, richer by fifteen cents, repaired to the next 
saloon. Here he made the same announcement, and 
was sternly ordered out by a gentleman all bang and 
jewelry. 

Nothing daunted, he took a position at the nearest 
street corner, and exerted his eloquence on every 
passer-by. But he found this slow work. Five min- 
utes passed, and he had disposed of but one more 
paper. 


TOM PLA YFAIR. 


139 


“I didn’t get a fair chance in that saloon,” he 
murmured. “ I think I’ll try it again.” 

He peered in cautiously this time, and, when the 
barkeeper’s back was turned, rushed in. 

“ Last chance, gentlemen. Here are all the even- 
ing papers complete and unabridged.” 

The barkeeper, with an ugly word, sprang over 
the counter and made a rush at him. 

Tom stood his ground, looking the enraged atten- 
dant squarely in the face. 

“ Which paper do you want, sir ? Times-Star or 
Post?" 

“Get out of here, you beggar,” cried the bar- 
keeper, pausing suddenly as he saw that Tom did 
not take to flight. 

“ You needn’t call names: I’m not a beggar. I’m 
selling these newspapers for a little fellow who’s half- 
starved.” 

The barkeeper glanced around and perceived at 
once that the popular sympathy was against him. 

“Give me a Star^ Johnny,” he said, and presently 
every man in the room was buying a paper. Tom’s 
pluck had caught their fancy, while his declaration 
had touched their hearts. In a few moments he had 
disposed of his stock, and resisting several offers to 
“take a drink,” hurried away to rejoin Arthur. 

He found his little friend seated alone at a large 
table with a plate of fried oysters before him. 

“I’m hungry myself,” observed Tom, helping him- 
self liberally to Arthur’s dish. “ Order a dozen more, 
Arthur, and I’ll help you eat them.” 

“ Where are the papers ? ” inquired Arthur. 

“Sold — every one of ’em. • I didn’t have a bit of 
trouble, though I thought that the big barkeeper 


140 


TOM TLA YFAIR. 


next door would murder me. But he didn’t; he 
bought a paper, and ended by asking me to take a 
drink. ” 

“You don’t mean to say that you got Clennam to 
buy a paper — the fellow to our right ? ” 

“But I did, though; and I sold over fifteen papers 
in his saloon.” 

“ Well, you’re the funniest boy I ever met. There’s 
not a newsboy in the city dares go into his saloon. 
They’re afraid of him awfully.” 

“ I was afraid, too,” said Tom. “ But when I saw 
him rushing at me, I just braced myself up to see 
what he’d do.” 

“Tom, I’d like to live with you all the time.” 

“ Glad you like me, Arthur. Go on and order 
more oysters.” 

“Thank you, I’ve had enough.” 

“ So’ve I. How are you on ice-cream ? ” 

“Let me treat this time, Tom. There’s a nice 
confectionery right around the corner.” 

In this realistic age one must be careful not to tell 
the whole truth, lest one be convicted of exaggera- 
tion. So I pass lightly over the astonishing feats of 
Tom and Arthur in the ice-cream parlor. 

As Tom paid the bill he glanced at the clock over 
the counter. It wanted twenty-five minutes to twelve. 

“Arthur, I forgot all about him. Oh, gracious! ” 

“Who!” 

“ My uncle. I left him across there in the theatre.” 

“Why, the theatre let out half an hour ago.” 

“Then, Arthur, I’ll tell you a secret.” 

“What, Tom?” cried Arthur breathlessly, for he 
was impressed with his companion’s grave face. 

“I’m lost.” 


TOM PLA YFAIR. 


141 

** Don’t you know where you live ? ” 

“No; don’t even know the name of the street. 
Uncle Meadow will be the maddest man in Cincin- 
nati. The fact is, we were having such a jolly good 
time that I forgot all about him.’’ 

“Well, you’re the queerest boy I ever met.” 

“ I don’t see anything queer about it. I’m lost, 
and you’ve got to take care of me. That’s all.’’ 

Arthur laughed musically; looking upon him now 
one would hardly recognize the sad-eyed boy of the 
previous hour. 

“ It’s so funny, Tom, to hear you talking of being 
taken care of by me. ’’ 

“ Where do you sleep nights ? ’’ continued Tom. 

“ I haven’t any regular place since we gave up 
housekeeping.’’ 

“ Halloa I who gave up housekeeping ? ’’ 

“ My little sister and I. Till she got sick, we had 
two little bits of rooms in ‘Noah’s Ark. ’ ’’ 

“ Noah’s Ark! ” ejaculated Tom. 

“ That’s what the St. Xavier College boys call it. 
It’s a great big tenement-house right across the alley 
from the college; and in fact it does look something 
like an ark. Well, little Kate and I were there and 
happy as larks. She was just the best sister, and 
kept the rooms so bright and cheerful that I used to 
be so glad to come home after looking around all 
day for work! She could cook and sew like a grown 
person, although she’s only nine.” 

“ Who paid for you ? ” broke in Tom. 

“ Well, in the beginning we had a little over twelve 
dollars left by poor papa. But after two weeks we 
had hardly anything left. Then I had to go to sell- 
ing papers and taking up all kinds of odd jobs. 


142 


TOM FLA YFAIF. 


And in spite of all, I could hardly scrape up enough 
money to pay the rent. After a while we had hard 
times getting anything to eat. I didn’t mind so 
much for myself, but poor little Kate kept on getting 
thinner and paler.” 

“ Didn’t you have any friends ? ” 

“No, Tom. We were strangers in the city.” 

“Then Kate took sick, didn’t she ? ” 

“Yes, Tom; and a good woman who lived in the 
tenement got the sisters to take care of her, and 
now she’s quite well. But I don’t know what to do. 
I’m not able to support myself; and I can’t bear to 
think of seeing Kate starving right under my eyes. ” 

They were standing under a lamp-post during this 
conversation and Tom could observe the signs of 
tears upon his little friend’s face. 

“ Well,” said Tom, choking down his own emotion, 
“ we’ll hold a council of war to-night before we go to 
sleep. Do you know any good hotel around here ? ” 

“ There’s a place across the street, the European 
Hotel.” 

Tom glanced at the building disdainfully. “No; 
we want something first-class. We’ll put up at the 
best hotel you know of.” 

“The Burnet House is about foursquares away.” 

“ That sounds better.” 

I think Tom succeeded in astonishing more people 
on that eventful night than, within the same period 
of time, any boy that ever came to Cincinnati. 

On the register of the Burnet House he wrote in 
a large, bold hand; 

“Thomas Playfair, travelling student,” and he 
gravely added to Arthur’s signature “ merchant.” 

“ We want a first-class room, and breakfast at 


TOM FLA YFAIR. 143 

seven,” said Tom to the clerk, who had become un- 
usually wide-awake. 

“ Four dollars in advance for the rooms, sir,” said 
that functionary. 

“I didn’t say rooms. We’re not accompanied 
by our families. Here’s a dollar for one room.” 

“Two dollars, sir,” said the clerk, now as thor- 
oughly wide-awake as he had ever been in his life. 

“ There’s the other dollar; you needn’t mind about 
sending up shaving water in the morning.” 

The clerk laughed, and summoning a bell-boy, 
directed him to show the “ gentlemen ” number eight, 
second floor. Hotel clerks are men of large experi- 
ence in certain directions; hence, notwithstanding 
the late hour, and the fact that the guests were boys 
without luggage, the metropolitan ofiflcial was so 
taken with the honest little faces before him that 
he allowed them the privdeges of the house without 
further investigation. 

I am bound to say, though, that our two friends 
availed themselves of a privilege not ordinarily ac- 
corded to travellers. 

No sooner had the bell boy left them in possession 
of their room than Tom picked up a pillow from the 
bed and proposed a game of “catch.” Stationing 
themselves at opposite corners, the two tossed the 
pillow gently at first, till, growing interested in their 
work, they threw with not a little energy. As an 
agreeable variety, Tom got the other pillow, and 
before long they came to a genuine pillow-fight, 
hurling their downy missiles, and dodging about in 
a manner that sent the blood to their cheeks and 
caused their eyes to dance with excitement. The 
boy who has no heart for pillow-fighting is fit for 


144 


TOM FLA YFAIK. 


treasons, stratagems, and spoils; let no such boy be 
trusted. 

The contest waxed fiercer — that is, merrier — each 
moment. Finally, Tom, pillow in hand, charged upon 
Arthur. There was a rapid interchange of blows, 
much movement and noise of little feet, and a sway- 
ing from side to side of the room, till at length 
with a well-directed blow Tom sent his antagonist 
sprawling upon the bed. 

It was then they noticed for the first time that some 
one was gently knocking at the door. 

“ Oh! ” said Arthur, turning pale, “we’re in for it 
now.” 

Tom threw the door open and found himself facing 
a mild-eyed old gentleman, who seemed to be far 
more frightened than Arthur. 

“ Good evening, sir. Won’t you walk in ? ” 

“ I beg your pardon, young sir; but I thought there 
was a murder or something going on in this room. 
I live next door, and I was awakened a few minutes 
ago by a noise as of people struggling for life.” 

“It wasn’t that bad, sir. There was a struggle; 
but it wasn’t for life. My friend over there on the 
bed,” added Tom, wickedly, “is very noisy.” 

The old gentleman now understood the situation; 
the light that shot from his eye and the smile that 
curled about his lips evinced that he too had been a 
boy in the golden long ago. 

“Well, young sir, may I ask you as a favor not to 
make any more noise to-night ? We old people can’t 
afford to lose our sleep.” 

“Certainly, sir; honest, I didn’t think about wak- 
ing people up. I’ll behave till morning, sir; good- 
night.” 


TOM PLAYFAIR. 145 

“ Good-night, young sir,” answered the gentleman 
smiling benevolently, “and God bless you! ” 

“ What a pity, ” said Tom as the door closed, “ that 
he’s grown up! He must have been a jolly boy.” 

“Yes, indeed,” assented Arthur. 

“ It’s the old story, Arthur; folks get spoiled once 
they grow up. They haven’t right ideas about fun. 
Now, if that old gentleman had been a boy, he’d have 
come rushing in with his pillow.” 

“Yes,” assented Arthur; “and if all the people in 
the hotel had been boys, they’d all have rushed in 
with their pillows.” 

“ Just so ; and we’d have had a gorgeous time. It’s 
a mistake for people to live long. It seems to me if 
a boy’s good, the best thing he can do is to die when 
he’s sixteen or seventeen. Of course, if he’s a sin- 
ner, it’s right for him to live and take his punish- 
ment like a man.” 

“ Where did you get that idea, Tom ? ” 

“I don’t know, but I’ve thought about it lots the 
last few days. You see, if a boy doesn’t do any- 
thing real bad, he’s bound to be pretty happy; then 
he dies and goes to heaven, where there’s just no end 
of fun, and gets saved hearing all that stuff about 
elections and stocks and bonds.” 

“Some boys have awful troubles, Tom.” 

“Well, the sooner they get to heaven the better, 
lust the same, I’m not anxious to die yet. I want 
to make my First Communion. There were two 
friends of mine, Arthur, struck down dead; but it 
was on the First Friday and both were speaking 
about having gone to Communion that very day. 
TheyWe all right. Come, let’s say our prayers, and 
then when we get to bed I’ll tell you all ahont it,” 
10 


146 


TOM PLAYFAIR. 


And before these two lads went to sleep, they had 
built in the intimacy of an hour a friendship which 
we older folk find to be the work of many years. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

IN WHICH TOM ENTERS UPON A CAREER OF EXTRAVA- 
GANCE. 

W HEN Arthur awoke next morning, he stared in 
no little surprise at Tom, who was standing 
before a mirror and surveying himself with evident 
complacency. 

“ Why, Tom! ” he called out, “ are you a real boy ? 
or is the whole thing a dream ? " 

“Yes,” answered Tom, with his customary modesty, 
“ it’s a sure thing that I’m a real boy. What are you 
staring at ? ” 

“ But you’ve got my clothes on.” 

“ Yes ; don’t I look fine in them ? ” 

“You’d look well in anything, Tom. But in the 
mean time, how am I to dress ? ” 

“ Take mine,” came the sententious answer, as Tom 
turned his back to the mirror and craned his neck 
in a vain effort to see how he looked from that point 
of view. 

“ No, I won’t, Tom; you’ve been too good to me 
already. I’ll not take another thing from you.” 

“All right; if you don’t put those clothes on, 
you’ll have to stay in bed for a while. I’m going to 
leave in about ten minutes.” 

“ I won’t put them on.” 

“You’ve got to. See here, didn’t you tell me last 
night that you’d take my advige ? ” 


TOM FLA YFAIR, 


147 


“Yes; but then you know — — “ 

“ Never mind the rest. My first advice is to put 
on those togs of mine. They’re a pretty good suit; 
but I’ve another suit along with me that’s just as 
good.’’ 

Tom, as usual, had his way, and waxed enthusias- 
tic over his new friend’s appearance. 

“My! Arthur, but you look splendid. You see, 
you’re rather skinny, and your own suit made it plain 
to everybody. Now you look like a young swell.” 

Indeed, Arthur’s appearance had really improved. 
Even his face had changed for the better. The e5^es 
shone with a joyous twinkle; the lines of misery and 
distress had softened; the refinement and delicacy 
of expression were now quite noticeable. 

Two months upon the streets! Who would believe 
it of that gentle boy ? Doubtless Arthur’s guardian 
angel could have explained the mystery, and into 
that explanation would have largely entered the 
sweet prayers and tender sympathy and elevating 
influence of a dear little sister’s love, 

Tom did not hear any guardian angel say this, but 
it came home to him, all the same, as he gazed upon 
Arthur, who was blushing under his scrutiny. 

“Arthur,” he added aloud, “ I want your sister to 
see you in good form. It will do her more good 
than all the quinine and paregoric in the world, when 
you walk in on her the way you are now. We’ll get 
breakfast right away, and then you’ll bring me down 
to the depot, so’s I can find my way to uncle’s, and 
we’ll shake hands for a while. Then to-morrow 
you’ll come and pay me a visit.” 

“That’s a nice plan, Tom; but you must come 
and see my sister first.” 


148 


TOM PLA YFAIR. 


“ Me! ” exclaimed Tom, shocked into the objective 
case. “Why it would spoil the whole plan. There’d 
be no fun at all, when she’d see me rigged out in 
your clothes.” 

“I’ll tell her anyhow, even if you don’t come; 
and I’ll fetch her round to see you, too. It’s my 
turn now to have my way. You’ve got to come.” 

“But I never talk to girls. I don’t even know 
how it’s done.” 

“Pshaw! that’s nothing. You know she’s almost 
a baby.” 

“I don’t like babies,” said Tom, growing eloquent. 
“One baby looks just the same as another; and if 
you don’t say a baby looks just like its pa, its 
mamma gets mad. Then babies don’t do anything 
but scream and eat. They’ve no hair and no teeth 
and no sense. The only thing good about a baby is 
that it doesn’t stay that way forever. It grows into 
something: but it’s tiresome waiting.” 

“ Kate has a full head of hair, a set of teeth, and 
lots of sense for her age. Now, Tom, I’ll feel really 
miserable if you don’t come.” 

Tom sighed. 

“ She’s only nine ? ” he inquired. 

“ Just nine a few months ago.” 

“Well, I’ll go, Arthur.” 

Then Arthur wrung his hand and so beamed over 
with joy that Tom became fully reconciled to what 
he considered the coming ordeal. 

And an ordeal it promised to be from the very 
start. For when, an hour later, the two, having fin- 
ished their breakfast, entered the hospital, and were 
walking along a vast corridor, a little girl with stream- 
ing hair and shining eyes came running toward them, 


TOM FLA YFAIF, 


149 


“O Arthur,” she cried, dashing straight at Tom, 
who ducked very cleverly, and looked as sheepish as 
it was possible for him to look, while the girl checked 
herself and sprang back, blushing, and Arthur shook 
with suppressed laughter. 

“I — eh — eh — it’s the other fellow, I think,” 
blurted Tom. 

And the “ other fellow ” with great tact put an end 
to the awkwardness of the situation by catching little 
sister and saluting her in true brotherly fashion. 

“And now, Katie,” he said archly, “let me intro- 
duce you to the boy you were throwing yourself at. 
He’s the best ” 

“Oh, I say,” broke in Tom, “you needn’t begin 
that way; it’s bad enough. I’m Tom Playfair and 
you’re Kate Vane. How d’e do, Kate?” And Tom 
shook hands with some return of his ordinary cool- 
ness. 

“ O Mr. Playfair ” 

“Tom,” interpolated the young gentleman in 
patched attire. 

“Tom,” she went on, accepting the correction; 
“ but I really thought you were Brother Arthur.” 

“Oh, it’s all right now,” said Tom.. “I’m not 
used to being taken for a brother. You see I never 
had any sisters; and that's whyT got so nervous.” 

And then, despite our hero’s protests, Arthur in- 
sisted upon describing at length the adventures of 
the preceding night. It was an awkward time for 
Tom. But, as he sat in the neatly-appointed room 
into which Kate had conducted them, he bore it with 
what meekness he could summon for the occasion. 

The little child who faced him was very like Arthur, 
with a beautiful and refined face, but so pale and 


TOM PLA YFAIR. 


150 

thin! Sickness had stolen the rosy hue of health, 
and left in its stead a pallor upon the delicate fea- 
tures; sickness had worn away the rounded cheeks 
till the face, lighted by large, beautiful eyes, was such 
as lofty-minded artists dream and ponder, but fail to 
reproduce as angel forms. 

“Tom,” said Kate, when Arthur had come to an 
end, “ I dreamed last night that St. Joseph was going 
to help me and Brother Arthur.” 

“She carries his statue in her pocket,” whispered 
Arthur, “and prays to him often.” 

“ I wish you’d pray to him, Kate, to get me out 
of trouble. I’m lost — and I think my uncle will 
make it pretty hot for me. He gets mad so easily! ” 

“ My dream has come true, like in a fairy book. 
Do you like fairy stories ? I do. And, Arthur, you 
look so well now. And I ’ ve got some good news, too. ” 

“ What ? ” cried Arthur. 

“Guess.” 

“ A situation for me.” 

“Guess again. It’s a letter.” 

“ Who from ? ” 

“From a lady in Danesville.” 

“Danesville! That’s where our uncle Archer used 
to live.” 

“You’re getting hot, Arthur. What do you think 
it says ? ” 

“Come on and tell me.” 

While brother and sister were speaking, Tom drew 
a railroad time-table from his pocket, and began 
running his eye over it. 

“It says that Uncle Archer is the nicest man, and 
oh, such a lot of things. Here, read it, Arthur.” 
And Kate produced a letter. 


TOM FLA YFAIF. 


151 

“ Why,” exclaimed Arthur, glancing at the super- 
scription, “this is a letter to Sister Alexia.” 

“ You didn’t guess that. Yes; she wrote without 
saying anything to me; and, and — why don’t you 
read it ? ” 

“Listen, Tom; you know our story. 

“ Dear Sister Alexia: 

“ There is a Mr. Archer in Danesville — a Mr. F. W. 
Archer.” 

“There, now! He isn’t in California,” exclaimed 
Kate, her eyes dancing. 

“ He is in comfortable circumstances, and as good as he is 
wealthy. Everybody esteems him. He is now past middle age, 
has an excellent wife, but lost his two beautiful children, a boy of 
three and another of five, two years ago on a trip to California. 
His wife is a very sweet woman and very affectionate. They had 
intended on leaving for California to remain there; but the loss of 
their two children brought them back to Danesville. Their 
residence is 240 Lombard St.” 

“Why, Kate,” exclaimed Arthur, “this is news. 
It’s almost too good to be true. Danesville is in this 
State, and — and =” 

“ Didn’t mamma say that her brother was the best 
of men? ” broke in Kate. “ And now we’re going to 
see him soon.” 

“Kate, I’ll tell you a secret. When papa was 
dying, he told me to take you to our uncle in Los 
Angeles. But after the funeral we didn’t have 
enough money, and I thought it awful hard. But 
now it’s best we didn’t go. I never told you papa’s 
order.” 

“Halloa!” said Tom. “Here we are. Dahes- 
ville is on the road between here and St. Mary’s— 
one hundred and twenty miles from Cincinnati.” 


rOM FLA YFAIF. 


^52 

“ How many days will it take to get there ? " asked 
Kate, eagerly. 

“Days! You don’t expect to go there by street- 
car, do you ? It won’t take more than six hours, and 
there’s a train starts at half-past eleven this morn- 
ing.’’ 

“O Arthur!” And Kate clasped her hands and 
looked anxiously at her brother. 

“ The next question,” pursued Tom, “ is, how much 
have you two got? ” 

“I’ve fifteen cents and a quarter with a hole in 
it,” answered Kate. 

“And I,” said her brother, “have eighty-five 
cents.” 

“Well, I happen to be well off just now, and I 
really didn’t know what to do with my money. Now, 
little girl, you just go and pack up your clothes and 
dolls and things like that; and if you don’t hurry 
up about it you’ll miss the train.” 

“Tom,” said Arthur, “how’ll you find your way 
to your uncle ? ” 

“Oh, there’ll be no trouble about that. Once I 
get to the depot where I came in, I can easily find 
my way to the street-car uncle took, and I know just 
where he got off.” 

“But, Tom, where’ll I write to you, to tell you 
how everything turns out ? ” 

“ Send your letter to the Burnet House; afterward 
I’ll send you my address.” 

In due time preparations for departure were com- 
pleted. Tom took possession of Kate’s valise — it 
was very light ; witnessed an affecting parting scene 
between the nuns and the little girl; and before 
brother and sister could fairly realize what a change 


TOM PLAYFAIR, 


153 


had come in their prospects, he had made arrange- 
ments for their tickets and seats in the parlor car, 
and given the colored porter directions concerning 
the little travellers which rather astonished that func- 
tionary. 

Kate and Arthur cried on bidding their protector 
good-bye, and our generous friend experienced a dim- 
ness about the eyes himself, as he stood at the pas- 
senger entrance and waved his hand in farewell. 

Tom and Arthur were not to meet again for several 
years. But their friendship defied separation. Two 
days later Tom received a letter from Arthur, en- 
closing twenty-five dollars, and giving a glowing 
account of the cordial reception accorded them by 
his uncle. With this letter came a note from Mr. 
Archer himself, containing such warm expressions of 
gratitude as made Tom blush at every line. The 
correspondence thus begun continued for years, until 
Tom and Arthur met — well that belongs to another 
story. 

So it was that our hero left the depot light of 
pocket and light of heart. He had but one dollar 
left of the twenty-five given him by his father. He 
took it out and gazed at it. 

“Well, I’ve had fifty dollars’ worth of fun; and 
now I’ll go and buy a dinner, and after that I’ll go 
back to Uncle Meadow; and for the rest of my stay 
herb I reckon I’ll have to be poor and honest.” 

With a sigh, Tom entered an oyster parlor; and 
when he came forth he had five cents left for car fare. 


TOM PLA YFAIR, 


^54 


CHAPTER XVII. 

m WHICH THE PRODIGAL RETURNS. 

I T is nigh upon four of the afternoon. Mr. Meadow 
is pacing up and down the front apartment of 
his suite of rooms, taking huge strides, occasionally 
striking his clenched hands upon an unoffensive table 
bordering the line of his route, and ever and anon 
stopping to glance savagely out of window. Mr. 
Meadow mutters now and then between his clenched 
teeth words which are mostly profanity and severe 
criticisms of his lost nephew. In short, Mr. Meadow 
is Very angry. 

“I’ll cowhide the wretched little brat within an 
inch of his life if I ever get my hands on him. ” This 
remark, with the adjectives a trifle stronger than 
here set down, issued from his lips as the last stroke 
of four came ringing through the air from a neigh- 
boring church, and Mr. Meadow made his periodical 
pause at the window front. 

This time he gave a sudden gasp, his eyes bulged 
from his head, as far as the economy of his bodily 
frame would allow, and he stare. 

He recovered himself by a strong effort, made a 
remark which shall not be repeated, then dashed 
down the stairway, threw the front door open with 

vicious and unnecessary violence, and 

Could that be Tom ? The figure walking up the 
front steps looked more like a young beggar, and a 
very disreputable young beggar at that. Arthur 


TOM PLAYFAIR. 


155 


Vane in his proper costume looked like a gentleman 
in comparison with Tom’s present appearance. Ar- 
thur’s hat on Arthur’s head had at least been in 
shape — on Tom’s it was crushed as though it had 
been used as a substitute for a football. On Arthur 
the clothes, though patched, had been neat; on 
Tom they were splashed with mud, while one patch 
oh the knee was torn, and a deep rent under the 
armpit revealed what kind of a shirt Tom was wear- 
ing. But the wretchedness of his appearance did 
not end with his garb. His face was swollen and 
discolored ; and his upper lip was puffed out to a 
ridiculous degree. Mr. Meadow had seen Tom in 
many a sad plight, but the limit was reached on this 
occasion. 

“You brat! yoti vulgar little beggar,” roared the 
uncle, with an extra adjective, “ come right in, and 
I’ll lash you with a cowhide.” 

Tom paused half way up the steps, and tried to 
smile. It was an awful failure. Probably he was 
willing enough to smile, but his upper lip, the most 
important part of his smiling apparatus, refused to 
do its duty : and so instead of smiling he succeeded 
in distorting his face still more. 

“Thanks, uncle,” he made answer. “But I guess 
I’ll not come in. I’ve been walloped enough.” 

“ Have you been fighting, you Vulgar little gutter- 
snipe ? ” continued the enraged uncle. 

“Yes, uncle,” answered the “vulgar little gutter- 
snipe,” backing dow<i a few steps in preparation to 
take to his heels should need arise, “ but I couldn’t 
help it, honest.” 

“ Who whipped ? ” 

Mr. Meadow was a sporting man; his weakness 


TOM PLA YFAIR, 


156 

asserted itself, and Tom was quick to see his 
chance. 

“ See here, uncle, if you promise not to touch me, 
I’ll tell you all about it.” 

“ You young beggar, what did you do with your 
own clothes ? ” 

“Promise not to whip me, uncle, and I’ll tell you 
all about it.” 

“ Were you robbed ? ” 

“No; but all my money’s gone, seventeen dollars 
and a half.” 

“ Were you robbed ? ” 

“Promise not to whip me, uncle, and I’ll tell you 
all about it. It’s as good as a story.” 

Mr. Meadow took a step forward; Tom as quickly 
moved down to the foot of the steps. 

“Stay where you are, uncle, or I’ll run.” 

“ Where did you go last night ? ” continued Mr. 
Meadow, less savagely, for the humor of the situa- 
tion was making its impression even upon him. 

“Promise not to whip me,” answered Tom, firmly. 

“ I’ll see about that after I’ve heard your story.” 

“ Honest, uncle ? ” 

“Yes, honest.” 

“You won’t whip me till I tell my story?” 

“I promise.” 

“ Cross your heart, uncle ? ” 

“ Confound you! — yes.” 

“ All right, then.” And Tom ran up the steps with 
his usual spryness. 

“Now, uncle, let me wash first; I feel awful 
sticky.” 

Mr. Meadow deigned to supply the young gentle- 
man with a basin of water. Tom threw off his coat, 


TOM PLA YFAIR. 


^57 


rolled back his shirt sleeves, and kept up a severe 
process of bathing for fifteen minutes without saying 
a single word. 

“ Well,” snapped his uncle, impatiently, “ who won . 
the fight ? ” 

“Oh, I’ve got to change my clothes yet. These 
things are spoiled from Cincinnati mud. Wherever 
there was a puddle, I was sure to step right into it. 
You see, uncle, I was chased.” 

“ Who chased you? ” 

“ Two dogs and — oh, wait till I change.” 

Mr. Meadow had to content himself for the next 
five minutes with grinding out remarks between his 
teeth, which, through a sense of decency, he did not 
wish to find way to Tom’s ears. 

At length Tom was apparently ready for his re- 
cital. With the exception of his face, he lopked like 
the boy of yesterday and the day before. 

“ Well, now, let’s hear your story.” 

Tom took a sponge from his valise, wet it and put 
it to his lip. 

“ Ah ! ” he sighed in relief ; “ that’s just the thing. ” 

“ Did you hear me, sir ? ” 

“ Oh, I beg your pardon. You want the story ? ” 

“That’s what I said.” 

“ And you remember your promise, uncle ? ” 

“ Yes, you brat! ” 

“You needn’t call names. Well, uncle. I’m not 
going to tell you my story ; then you can’t whip me. ” 
And he removed his sponge and smiled hideously. 

Mr. Meadow bounded from his chair; Tom made 
for the door. 

“ Will you keep your promise ? ” he asked with his 
hand on the knpb, 


TOM PLAYFAIR. 


158 

“Yes; come in; I’ll not touch you. Go ahead 
with your story: I promise not to whip you in any 
case.” 

“Ah! that’s a bargain. You know, uncle, papa 
doesn’t want you to whip me; so I thought it was 

fair to get ahead of you. Well, last night ” and 

Tom then narrated his adventures up to the moment 
of his leaving the oyster-house with five cents for 
car fare. 

“And then, uncle,” he contiuned, “I thought how 
I could best please you.” 

“What exquisite consideration,” growled the au- 
ditor. 

“Wasn’t it, uncle ? I knew you wouldn’t like me 
to come back without a cent in my pocket ; and be- 
sides I was afraid you might call me a lot of names, 
and lose your temper — and you did, uncle. You 
swore dreadfully, and you said ” 

“Go on with your story,” growled the affectionate 
young man. “Tell me about the fight.” 

“I’m coming to it, sir. Well, then, I started to 
walk home along the street where those cars ran that 
we took yesterday. You see, uncle, I’d made up my 
mind to save that nickel.” 

“You’ve wonderful ideas of economy,” snarled 
Mr. Meadow, in parentheses. 

“Well, when I’d walked about two squares I came 
to an alley. It was an awful rough-looking place, 
uncle. There were three fellows leaning against a 
house on the alley corner when I came along; and 
before I knew where I was, they’d got on the out- 
sijde of me, and shut me into . that alley. I never 
saw three rougher-looking boys since I gave up going 
to fires,” 


TOM PLAYFAIR. 


159 


'■ And did you knock ’em all down ? ” 

“Huh!! The wonder is they didn’t knock me 
down first thing. The middle fellow seemed to be 
the ringleader. He was the smallest, abouf my size. 
He had two teeth th^t stuck out so’s you could count 
’em without trying. They were his higher teeth.’’ 
“Upper, you barbarian,’’ corrected Mr. Meadow. 

“ Exactly. They were large teeth ; larger than 
yours, uncle, I really do— — 

“ Go on, will you ? ’’ 

“ Why don’t you give me a chance? This isn’t 
a grammar class. Well, the fellow with the big teeth 
said, ‘Say, gimme chaw terbacker. ’ ’’ 

“ And did you hit him ? ’’ 

Tom looked at his uncle reproachfully. 

“ Do you think I’m a fool ? I said that I couldn’t 
speak French, and the other two giggled. Then he 
looked so that I could count jive teeth, ^nd said in 
an awful savage way — just the way you were talk- 
ing to me a minute ago, when 

“ What did he say ? ’’ burst in the excited listener. 
“He said ‘Gimme chaw terbacker.’ And then he 
used some words something like what yo u —— ” 

“ Go on — what did you do? ’’ 

“I said, ‘I don’t talk German either,’ and then 
before I could guess what he was up to he gave me 
an awful whack on the lip, and he struck out again. 
I dodged the second blow, and I got so excited that 
like a fool I struck back with all my plight, and he 
went sprawling. I struck him on the mouth, uncle, 
and when he got up he was spitting and coughing, 
and I could only count one tooth.’’ 

“ And what did you do then ? ’’ 

“I couldn’t do anything, uncle. The other twg 


i6o TOM FLA YFAIR. 

grabbed me tight, and while the fellow who used to 
have a loose tooth was choking and hopping round, 
and swearing whenever he could get his breath, the 
other two went through my pockets and got the silk 
handkerchief Aunt Meadow sent me on my birthday, 
a small magnet, a pocket-knife, a lot of string, a 
broken jew’s-harp, and my last nickel.” 

“ And didn’t you make any resistance ? ” 

“ I squirmed and wriggled round, and when they’d 
emptied all my pockets, I ran as fast as I could till 
I turned the corner. And then I began to feel awful 
bad about that nickel. It was real hard to have to 
come home without it, so I turned back quietly, and 
walked into a drug-store on the opposite side of the 
street. I sneaked in while they weren’t looking that 
way. The drug-store had a big window looking out 
so’s you could see into that alley for a whole block. 
I told the drug-store man that I felt sick, and that 
I’d like to sit down in his store for a while. He 
laughed when he looked at me, and said,‘ All-right. ’ 
Then I pulled a chair over to the window, and 
watched those three fellows for over fifteen minutes. 
They were fussing just awfully about the handker- 
chief. The fellow with the tooth didn’t get that. 
Then they had a row about the knife, and the fellow 
with the tooth came near having it knocked out and 
he didn’t get the knife anyhow. They gave him the 
string and the jew’s-harp ; and then they had an awful 
row about the nickel. They tossed it up and yelled 
‘Heads ’ and ‘Tails,’ and shouted, and I don’t know 
what all, till somehow or other the fellow with the 
tooth got that. You ought to have seen him. He 
jumped into tho air and knocked his heels together 


TOM FLA YFAIF. 


163 


“Oh, you spent that too.” 

“No, sir, I — er — I gave it away.” 

Tom had become very nervous and awkward. 

“ Whom did you give it to? ” 

No answer. 

“ Did you hear me ? ” 

“To a poor fellow I met. Come on, uncle, and 
get me something to eat.” 

Tom did not reveal the whole story; there was 
some modesty in his composition. 

When the “ boy with the tooth ” had surrendered 
the nickel to its proper owner, Tom had noticed the 
sullen face of the poor wretch lengthen in disappoint- 
ment. In a flash the words recorded in the sole 
entry in his diary, “ Vinegar never catches flies,” re- 
curred to him. He ran up to the boy, who, with his 
shoulders raised and his head depressed, was creep- 
ing away, and touched him lightly again. 

“Keep off,” cried the fellow, with a snarl: “you 
and me’s quits.” 

“No, we’re not,” said Tom. “Old fellow, you 
need this nickel more than I do,” and he pressed it 
into the lad’s hand. “It’s all I’ve got with me; 
but I wish it was more, and I’m sorry about that 
tooth of yours.” 

As Tom turned away, he left the poor little wretch 
gasping, mouth and eyes wide open, and the little 
brain within pondering over the only sermon that 
had ever came home to it. 

Tom walked on, light of heart and happy. 

“It can’t do him any harm,” he reflected, “and 
maybe it’ll do him good.” 

Then some one touched his shoulder. 

“ Say,” exclaimed the toothless one, almost out of 


164 


TOM PLA YFAIR, 


breath, for he had had some trouble in picking Tom 
out of the crowd, “say, Johnnie, I’ll never act dat 
way again— never. Do ye catch on ?” 

It was in order for Tom to improve the occasion 
by saying something pious and edifying. But Tom 
didn’t follow the traditions of the book. He merely 
grinned, gave his penitent a hearty hand-squeeze, 
and said not one word. 

This part of the story, as I said, he concealed from 
Mr. Meadow. But that gentleman inferred some- 
thing of it, and was so pleased with his inference 
that he gave Tom but a quarter of an hour’s scold-' 
ing which he salved with a twenty-five-cent piece 
and a good dinner. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

IN WHICH TOM ASTONISHES AND HORRIFIES HIS AUNT. 

I T is ten of the night. Tom has just arisen from 
his knees, and seems to find some difficulty in 
divesting himself of his sailor shirt. He is gazing 
very hard at Mr. Meadow through a sort of lattice- 
work formed by the bosom of his shirt, which is now 
concealing his little head. In this dramatic attitude 
he stands till Mr. Meadow gets into bed. Then Tom 
with a jerk brings the shirt back to its normal posi- 
tion on his shoulders, and says: 

“Uncle, you’ve forgot something.” 

“What?” 

“ Why you forgot to kneel down before going to 
bed. You didn’t used to do that when we lived in 
St. Louis. Hop out and kneel down.” 


TOM PLA YFAIR, 


165 

“ Mind your business, young man.” 

In answer to which Tom sat down on a chair and 
began to whistle softly. 

“ Stop that noise and come to bed.” 

Tom ceased his whistling, arose, walked over to 
the sofa, and, throwing an overcoat about himself, 
lay back with his eyes fixed upon Mr. Meadow’s as- 
tonished face. 

Then there was a long pause, during which the 
recumbent uncle and nephew looked at each other 
steadily. 

“ What are you staring at ? ” growled Mr. Meadow, 
raising his head and leaning upon his elbow. 

“I’m taking in your night-cap, uncle. It makes 
you look so funny.” 

“ Get off that sofa and come to bed.” 

“Not in that bed.” 

“ Why not ? ” 

“You didn’t say your prayers. Suppose the Devil 
were to come round to-night: he might get things 
mixed up, and take me for you. Then there’d be a 
pretty how-de-do.” 

Tom was not entirely in earnest, but he spoke with 
funereal gravity. 

“If you don’t come to bed, sir. I’ll report you to 
your father.” 

Tom sighed. Mr. Meadow had hit upon the best 
means of subduing him. He arose from the sofa, 
slowly undressed, then going to his valise took out a 
bottle containing holy water, which he proceeded to 
sprinkle over the bed, incidentally dousing the aston- 
ished countenance of his uncle. 

Then with another sigh he retired. He intended 
to sigh for a third time once he had composed him- 


i66 


TOM FLA YFAIR. 


self for slumber, but he fell asleep before the time 
came for carrying out this pious intention. 

Tom was unusually docile on this occasion. But 
Mr. Meadow’s threat was not an idle one. That 
very day a telegram had reached them, announcing 
the coming on the morrow of Mr. Playfair and Aunt 
Meadow. The one person in the world whom Tom 
feared was his father; and he still remembeied, viv- 
idly too, their painful encounter, touched upon, or 
rather glossed over, in Chapter II. 

Next morning, accordingly, Mr. Playfair and Miss 
Meadow arrived. 

Mr. Playfair unbent so far as to give his little boy 
a paternal kiss; but his aunt’s greeting was so warm 
as to disarrange her toilet very considerably. Then 
holding her darling nephew at arm’s length, she 
anxiously scanned his features. 

“Tommy, dear,’’ she exclaimed at length, “you 
must have received an awful shock.’’ 

“No, I didn’t, aunt, it was just nothing at all. I 
fell down all of a heap, and picked myself up as 
good as new. ’’ 

Tom made light of the matter; he knew his aunt 
from of old, and he had no intention of being plied 
with family medicines for a week. 

“Roll down your stocking, Tommy, I must see 
where you’ve been burnt.’’ 

“ Do you take me for a tattooed man ? ’’ exclaimed 
the young gentleman indignantly. 

“Pull down your stocking,’’ said Mr. Playfair. 

And when Tom with commendable promptness 
exhibited the red mark, as of a branding-iron, upon 
his calf. Miss Meadow pulled out her handkerchief 
and began to cry. Poor, gentle lady! 


TOM PLA VFAIP. 


167 


“Oh, I say, Aunt Jane, don’t,” exclaimed Tom, 
earnestly. He was a warm-hearted little fellow, and 
under a boyish mask of levity concealed the great 
love he bore his aunt. 

In answer to this remonstrance, she threw her arms 
about him again, and renewed the kissing and hug- 
ging till he blushed as a red, red rose. 

“Why doesn’t somebody take notice of me that 
way ? ” queried Mr. Meadow, who felt that he was 
being ignored. 

“I think I’ll pull up my stocking,” said Tom, now 
really embarrassed. “ There’s no use in making such 
a fuss about it. People that cook get burnt a lot 
worse, and don’t say a word.” 

“ Tommy, dear,” resumed Miss Meadow, who, hav- 
ing had her cry out, was now, after the manner of 
her sex, thoroughly renewed, “you’re not quite well 
yet; you’ve lost color.” 

“Gracious!” exclaimed Tom, turning his face to 
a looking-glass. “Aunt calls me pale, when my face 
looks for all the world like — like ” 

“ A ham, or better still, an Indian in his war 
paint,” interpolated the agreeable young man of the 
party. 

“George Playfair,” Miss Meadow went on, after 
bestowing a withering glance upon her only brother, 
“just look at your boy.” 

“ I have been looking at him these last five min- 
utes, Jane.” 

“ Can’t you see that he’s badly shaken ? ” 

“ He was pretty badly shaken when you got hold 
of him. But if you mean to say he’s sick, I must 
give it as my opinion that he never looked better in 
his life.” 


i68 


TOM PLAYFAIR. 


“ Men have no feelings,” exclaimed Miss Meadow 
with unusual bitterness. 

“ They can see through a millstone, "^hough, when 
there’s a good-sized hole in it,” said Mr. Meadow, 
grinning at his own wit. 

“Now, Tommy, tell us all about that dreadful 
night. By the way, Charles,” she continued, ad- 
dressing Mr. Meadow, “ are there any lightning-rods 
on this house ? ” 

“ Two.” 

“ Is that all ?” 

“I should think that’s enough.” 

“You can’t have too many,” continued Miss 
Meadow. 

“We might attach a lightning-rod to Tom,” sug- 
gested Mr. Playfair dryly. “ He’d present an inter- 
esting spectacle, going round with a lightning-rod 
sticking out of his hat.” 

“ George Playfair,” exclaimed Miss Meadow, aris- 
ing from her chair, “ if you had any heart in you, 
you wouldn’t go jesting on that subject, after such 
a terrific visitation!” 

“Oh! if you wish, my dear, we’ll have both light- 
ning-rods removed from this house.” 

Miss Meadow gave him a look — such a look ! — 
then turned to Tom, and, with many a question, 
succeeded in extracting from her tortured nephew 
some account of the calamity. 

“Wasn’t he brave!” she exclaimed, when he had 
detailed his experiences in crossing the creek. “ He 
might have been drowned.” And Miss Meadow 
caught Tom to her arms again. 

“If the boy had had any sense at all,” said the 


TOM PLAYFAIR. 169 

practical father, “he’d have felt around for that 
bridge to begin with, instead of risking his life.” 

“Yes, Tom,” added the genial uncle, “you were 
a fool. By the way, that swimming adventure of 
yours reminds me of—” 

Mr. Meadow was about to relate how he had once 
saved a drowning companion by reaching him a 
long pole from the bank, when he was interrupted 
by Tom’s extraordinary gesticulations. For Tom 
had at once raised both hands in air, and set his 
fingers wriggling in a way that was little short of 
dazzling. 

“What’s the matter?” exclaimed the narrator. 

“Ten times,” answered Tom. “You’ve told us 
that story ten times in the last ten months. Give 
us something new.” 

Tom intended to be facetious, but his impertinence 
offended his uncle, who forthwith proceeded to nar- 
rate Tom’s adventures in Cincinnati. 

During the recital Mr. Playfair’s brow clouded. 

“ I don’t like it,” he observed at the end. 

“Don’t like what?” cried the aunt. “Indeed, 
sir, you don’t know what a treasure you’ve got. 
Few boys would give all their money and their best 
suit of clothes in charity.” 

“ Yes, and few boys who are supposed to be gen- 
tlemen would stay out all night, and run into saloons 
to sell papers.” 

“I forgot, pa.” 

“And,” continued the stern father, whose very 
love for his son made him a severe judge, “ it’s very 
charitable to give away clothes and money, but 
whose were they ?” 


170 


TOM PLAYFAIR, 


You gave me the money, pa ; and, besides, I only 
loaned it.” 

“And then,” Mr. Playfair was resuming, but Miss 
Meadow came to the rescue. 

“ Now, George, the idea of scolding your heroic 
little boy after a separation of three months! You 
know you’d have been sorry if Tom had acted any 
way else. ” 

“ No, I wouldn’t, Jane. Tom should have gone 
back to his uncle in the theatre — ” 

“It wasn’t much of a theatre, anyhow,” put in 
Tom, getting in return a savage scowl from his 
uncle. 

“ And Charles would have taken care of the boy 
without all this paper-selling and staying out all 
night.” 

“Well, pa, I meant to do right.” 

“ What’s that place they say is paved with good 
intentions?” asked Mr. Meadow. 

“ I’m sure you meant right, Tom, but you must 
be careful. Remember you’re getting ready for 
your First Communion.” 

Mr. Playfair, it may be remarked, was somewhat 
Jansenistic in his ideas. All during Mr. Meadow’s 
account of Tom, he had been deliberating whether 
the boy were of a fit age and disposition for receiv- 
ing the Blessed Sacrament. He loved his boy, but 
did not understand him. 

“By the way, Jane,” he said, turning to Miss 
Meadow, “ if you wish to see your former school- 
mate before dinner, we’d better start at once. Of 
course you’ll come with us, Tom.” 

“Hurrah!” cried Tom, regaining his spirits. 

But at this point Miss Meadow failed him. 


TOM PLAYFAIR. 1 71 

“ Mr. Playfair!” she exclaimed dramatically, “will 
you please look out that window?” 

“I’m tired looking out that window, Jane.” 

“ And do you mean to say that you are willing to 
expose your son’s precious life in the face of a 
blinding snow-storm ?” 

Miss Meadow was carried into exaggeration by 
her anxiety for Tom’s welfare. It was snowing 
quite briskly, but by no means in such a way as to 
merit her strong epithet. 

“Pshaw!” cried Tom, “I ain’t a girl.” 

“ I don’t see any particular risk,” said the father. 

“ In his present debilitated state,” continued Aunt 
Jane firmly, “ it would be absolute suicide to let 
that boy put his foot beyond the threshold.” 

“ Do you take me for a wax doll ?” growled Tom. 

But, despite all protests. Miss Meadow had her 
will. 

Presenting her nephew with a box of candy and 
the “History of Sandford and Merton, ’’and caution- 
ing him to avoid all draughts and keep his feet 
warm, the good little lady departed with Mr. Play- 
fair and her amiable brother, leaving behind her a 
very discontented young man indeed. 

Tom spent fully half an hour munching candy 
and reading the initial chapters of the story ; then 
he closed the book with a snap. 

“Those English boys must be queer fellows, if 
they go round preaching sermons the way that 
Sandford does.* I’m glad he doesn’t go to St. 
Maure’s; he makes me tired.” 

That was the last of Sandford and Merton for 

* Tom did the English boys injustice. Master Sandford, I 
am told, exists ’in fiction, not in England. 


172 


TOM PLAYFAIR. 


Tom. He presented the precious volume, before 
leaving Cincinnati, to the house cook. 

The ensuing hour passed very slowly. He gave 
most of the time to gazing ruefully out of the window, 
with his nose flattened against the pane. The snow 
continued to fall, and the street below had become 
carpeted in white. Tiring even of this, he at length 
took to standing on his head and turning somer- 
saults; and he was thus putting himself into a hap- 
pier frame of mind, when there came a ring at the 
door. 

Thinking that it was his father and aunt, he has- 
tened to admit them himself ; but instead of finding 
his relations standing without, he opened the door 
upon a very small boy, with a very weazen face and 
a very large snow-shovel. 

“Halloa!” said Tom. 

“Would you like to have the snow shovelled off 
your pavement, sir ?” 

“It isn’t my pavement; and, besides, I’m not the 
lady of the house,” explained Tom. “But, if you 
like. I’ll go and ask her.” 

“Thank you, sir,” said the very small boy. 

Tom returned presently, with the news that the 
lady of the house would put her hired man at it, 
later on. 

“Thank you, sir,” and the little boy touched his 
cap and sniffled. 

Tom was touched. 

“I say, little chap, wont you take some candy?” 

“Thank you, sir.” The small boy received the 
handful of caramels with a smile. 

“ How much do you charge for shovelling snow?” 
pursued Tom. 


TOM PLAYFAIR. 173 

“Twenty-five cents is the regular charge, I think, 
sir.” 

“What’s your charge?” 

“ I don’t know, exactly. I never tried before.” 

“ How does fifty cents suit you ?” continued Tom, 
spreading his feet and with his arms akimbo. 

“ That’s too much.” 

“ Not for you, though. You’re not used to the 
work, and it’ll take you twice as long to do it as a 
fellow who is used to it. That’s why I’ll pay you 
twice as much.” 

This was Tom’s first expression of opinion in 
political economy. 

The very small boy was presently working away 
with a will, while his smiling employer, standing in 
the doorway, looked on with undisguised interest. 

“Where’s your gloves?” asked Tom, after a 
silence of at least five minutes. 

“ I aint got any, sir.” 

“Here,” cried the employer, returning from the 
hat-rack with his own, “ come up here and put these 
on.” 

“Please, sir, I don’t want them, thank you.” 

He was a modest boy, this weazen-face. 

“ Who asked you whether you wanted them or not ? 
You’re in my employment now, and you’ve got to 
do what you’re told. Hop up here and put ’em on. . 
What’s your name ?” continued Capital, as he handed 
Labor the gloves. 

“ Fred Williams, sir.” 

“ Call me Tom, or I’ll discharge you. I like your 
name. I knew a fellow named Fred once, and he 
wasn’t a bad sort of a chap, though he was an awful 
blower.” 


174 


TOM PLAYFAIR. 


Fred smiled in an ancient way and, descending 
the steps, resumed his work. One moment later, a 
snowball took him on the back of the head. He 
turned his face to the door, but Tom, who was 
grinning behind it, was out of sight. 

“I did it,” said the honest but undignified em- 
ployer, after a judicious interval, as he came running 
down the steps. “Say, you’re tired, aren’t you?” 

“No, sir.” 

“Yes, you are; let me catch hold of that shovel. 
I’ll bet I can manage it better than you.” 

Aghast, the employee yielded, and Tom put him- 
self to shovelling till his back ached. He had 
completely forgotten Aunt Meadow’s injunctions. 

“There!” he exclaimed, throwing a last shovelful 
into the gutter, “ now that’s done for. Here’s your 
fifty cents, Fred.” 

“Thank you, sir,” said Fred simply. “It’s for 
mamma.” 

“ Take some more candy,” said Tom. 

“No, thank you. Good-bye, sir.” 

“ Hold on; let’s have some fun.” 

Fred grinned. 

“ Just stand at that corner,” continued Tom, “ and 
we’ll peg at each other. You ought to get a .chance 
at me, because I hit you when you weren’t looking, 
you know.” 

“I’d like to, but mamma’s sick and I want to 
help her.” 

“ If I had any more money,” said Tom, “ I’d get 
you to clean off some more sidewalks; but I’m 
dead broke.” 

The little boy was about to speak, when a sound 
not unlike a scream startled the two lads. 


TOM PLAYFAIR. 


175 


“Why, Tommy,” continued Miss Meadow, turning 
the corner with her brother-in-law, “you’ll catch 
your death of cold. Go into the house this very 
instant. Aren’t your stockings wet?” 

“Of course they are; I’ve been shovelling snow. 
Say, aunt,” he added in a low tone, as he brought 
his mouth to her ear, “ this little chap’s got a sick 
mother. Give him a dollar and I’ll do anything 
you like.” 

“You will? Then I’ll give him two.” 

Tom’s promise cost him a hot mustard bath, but 
he bore it bravely for sweet charity’s sake. 

After supper, our hero actually did become ill. 

He felt an uneasy feeling somewhere within, and 
didn’t know what to make of it. Like the young 
Spartan with the fox gnawing at his vitals, he tried 
to bear his misery with unchanged demeanor. Poor 
boy! a week’s feasting following hard upon a week’s 
fasting had bees too much for him. 

Miss Meadow, who had been watching him all 
day with the eye of a detective, noticed a change in 
his color. There was no imagination this time. 

“Tommy, tell me the truth,” she said, “you are 
sick.” 

“It’s here, aunt,” said Tom, laying his hand 
pathetically upon his stomach. 

Whereupon Miss Meadow put him to bed, placed 
a mustard plaster upon the place indicated, and, 
seating herself beside her boy, held a watch before 
her to time his misery. In ten minutes he began 
wriggling. 

“You’ve got to bear it. Tommy dear.” 

“I prefer the belly-ache,” growled the impatient 
invalid. He attempted to move his aunt by groans. 


176 


TOM PLA YFAIR. 


but she was obdurate. Then he begged for a glass 
of water, determined, once his aunt had left the 
room, to fling the wretched plaster out of the win- 
dow. But Miss Meadow, with her eyes watching 
his every motion, backed over to the door and called 
out for water. 

“I think, aunt, you’d better take that rag off,” 
implored Tom, when the watch had gone seventeen 
minutes. “I’m perfectly well, honest; and that 
thing’s burning awfully.” 

But Miss Meadow mounted guard till twenty-five 
minutes had elapsed. 

He was cured. His aunt, bent on making assur- 
ance doubly sure, now produced a box of pills; 
however, when he protested, almost with tears in 
his eyes, that he never felt better in his life. Miss 
Meadow gave in. 

When she returned to the room rather suddenly, a 
few minutes later, she was horrified to find the dar- 
ling boy dancing about the room, apparently in an 
ecstasy of joy. 

“ Tommy ! you reckless boy ! What are you doing 
now ?” 

“I was celebrating,” he answered, somewhat dis- 
comfited at being discovered, and highly astonished at 
seeing that his aunt had a coil of rope in her hands. 

“ Celebrating what ?” 

“ That old mustard plaster. I feel so good that 
it’s off. But I say, aunt, you’re not going to tie 
me down, are you?” 

“No, Tommy; but get into bed, and I’ll tell you 
all about it.” 

Curiosity gave Tom’s obedience a generous amount 
of promptness. 


TO A/ TLA VTA IT. 177 

Then Miss Meadow gravely tied one end of the 
rope to the bureau. 

“It’s a heavy bureau, Tom; and it will stand the 
strain.” 

The astonished lad began to fear that his aunt 
was losing her mind. 

“ What strain ?” 

“Tommy, pay attention to me; if the house 
catches fire, or gets struck by lightning, drop this 
rope out the window and climb down. You’re good 
at climbing, you know.” 

“ Do you really think, aunt, that the lightning is 
chasing me round the world?” 

“We don’t know what may happen,” said the 
little woman. “There are storms and fires all over 
the country. Now, good night, dear!” and she kissed 
the unromantic youth. 

Miss Meadow had not been gone five minutes, 
when she remembered that Tom’s wat6r-pitcher 
needed replenishing. She hastened back, and, as 
she entered his room, gave a gasp. He was not 
there. 

“Tommy!” she called. 

“Yes’m.” 

The voice was from without. Ah! she saw it all 
now, as with a suppressed, scream she hurried over 
to the open window, following the course of the 
rope. 

Tom was half-way down. 

“ You wretch — God forgive me! — my dear Tommy, 
what on earth are you doing?” 

“Testing your fire-escape, aunt. It’s immense!” 
He delivered this opinion as he touched foot in the 
yard. No sooner had ^e relinquished his bold on 
12 


178 


TOM PLAYFAIR. 


the rope than Miss Meadow hauled it up into the 
window with feverish haste. 

“I say,” he protested, “how’ll I get back?” 

“ril open the door for you. Tommy.” 

“But you’ve spoiled all my fun; it would be jolly 
climbing up again.” 

Master Tom, nevertheless, re-entered by the side 
door; and slept without a fire-escape that night. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

IN WHICH TOM AND KEENAN HOLD A COUNCIL OF WAR. 

“TTEY! you fellows over there; you needn’t try 
1 1 to dodge work ; come on, now, and haul 
snow. Harry, for goodness’ sake, go and show 
Conway how to roll that snowball of his here. If 
he goes on that way he wont have it here in time 
for next Christmas. I say, John Donnel, stir up 
John Pitch, wont you? There he is fooling around 
in a puddle of water with his old rubber boots, when 
he ought to be hard at work.” 

Such were the quick and various remarks that 
came from the mouth of Tom Playfair, some few 
days after his return from St. Louis, whither he had 
gone with father and aunt to spend his Christmas 
holidays. 

The events of the November night had made Tom 
extremely popular among his playfellows. All boys 
are at bottom generous hearted. Selfishness is the 
crust of years; and the countless mean acts of cer- 
tain boys are in nine cases out of ten the result of 
thoughtlessness, and in the' tenth case, the fruit of 


TOM PLA YFAIR. 


179 


false ideals and defective training. So, in the 
general chorus of praise for Tom, there was not a 
single dissenting voice. 

For some days past there had been talk in the 
small yard of building a snow fort, and of inviting 
the boys of the large yard to attempt its capture. 
Various details had been discussed, until finally, 
with the rejection of some and the acceptance of 
others, it was resolved to carry the matter into 
effect. 

“Who’ll be captain?’’ queried Conway. 

“Keenan!” suggested Pitch. “He was captain 
last year.” 

“Not this time,” said George Keenan. “One 
turn is good enough for me. I like to play second 
fiddle now and then. It seems to me that our cap- 
tain for this year ought to be Tom Playfair.” 

“Playfair! Playfair!” was re-echoed on all sides, 
and with the least little touch of a blush on the part 
of Tom, and wondrous unanimity on the part of 
his playfellows, our hero was installed as captain of 
the small boys’ snow fort. 

With his usual energy, Tom set about constructing 
the ramparts of snow; his orders went flying right 
and left. He was an active superintendent; he 
inspected everything personally; and in doubtful 
points consulted the experience of Donnel and 
Keenan. 

“I say, John,” he said, addressing Donnel, when 
matters were well underway, “ how long did you fel- 
lows hold the fort against the big boys last year?” 

“ About eleven or twelve minutes. They stole a 
march on us last year. Before dinner, we had got 
over five hundred snowballs ready. While we were 


i8o 


TOM PLAYFAIR. 


in eating, some of the big boys stole them. That 
took all the spirit out of our fellows. By the way, 
we ought to get even with them for that trick. I’m 
going to try to think out some scheme. Yes, Tom; 
last year they put us to rout in eleven minutes.” 

“Pshaw! That wont go. We’re not going to 
allow them to clean us out in that style this year.” 

“Aren’t you, now? I don’t know about that,” 
put in Keenan. “ Some of those big chaps are just 
awful at throwing a snowball. Once Carmody 
pegged a snowball that took me square on the nose. 
It came in so hard, that I thought at first that my 
nose was driven through my head, and would come 
sticking out on the other side.” 

“Yes,” chimed in John, “and once last winter 
when Ryan hit me in the eye, I saw so many moons 
that I thought I was a lunatic.” 

This excellent classical pun— excellent because 
so extremely bad — was lost upon Tom. It was lost 
upon George, too, who at that moment was seemingly 
absorbed in thought. 

“Tom,” he said suddenly, “I’ve an idea. Come 
over by the playroom; I think you’re just the boy 
that can carry it out.” 

There was inspiration in George’s face. 

The two walked away together, and held a long, 
animated, but whispered consultation. Presently 
they returned to John’s side. 

“ Now, the question is,” began Tom, “to find out 
who are the best throwers in the big yard.” 

“Let’s see,” said Donnel. “There’s Ryan and 
Carmody and McNeff and McCoy (he uses ice balls, 
too; he’s a mean fellow) and Drew and Will Cleary 
and Ziegler, That’s all I can remember,” As 


TOM PLAYFAIR. 


i8 


George enumerated each name he checked it off on 
his fingers and blinked his eyes. 

“You left out two of the best,” put in John Don- 
nel — “ Miller and Arthur.” 

“Just nine,” said Tom, as he walked away. 

Donnel perceived that something was on foot; his 
curiosity was aroused. 

“ Say, George, what scheme are you and Tom 
hatching ?” 

“We’re going to steal all the snow in the big 
yard, so’s to deprive the big fellows of ammunition,” 
was George’s grave reply. 

“Oh, come on! what’s the idea?” 

“We’re going to make a bonfire in the fort, so’s 
to keep the boys warm and prevent the snow from 
freezing too hard.” 

John aimed a blow at George, which would have 
taken that young wag in the ribs, had he not ducked 
promptly. With a growl on the part of John, 
and a laugh on the part of George, the conference 
ended. 

Meantime, the work went on with ever-increasing 
energy ; so that, as the sweet notes of the Angelas 
bell announced the hour of noon, and the boys with 
bared heads paused from their work to renew the 
angelic salutation, — one of the sweetest memorial 
customs of St. Maure’s, — they bowed their faces and 
breathed their words in the presence of a fort 
graceful in its way, and strong as boyish skill could 
make it. 

It had been arranged that the storming of the fort 
should begin precisely at one o’clock. Contrary to 
the general custom on holidays, there was much 
talking and little eating at dinner; and even the 


i 82 


TOM PLA YFAIR. 


advent of the favorite pie aroused but little enthu- 
siasm. 

Truth compels me to say that not a few of the 
boys shortened their customary after-dinner visit to 
the Blessed Sacrament on this occasion; — we are 
dealing with boys, not with angels. 

While twenty or thirty of the stronger lads busied 
themselves in inspecting and strengthening the for- 
tification, the others gave themselves to the manu- 
facturing and storing away of snowballs. 

These they placed within the intrenchments, 
which, I forgot to mention, were situated in the 
angle formed by a wing an(^a portion of the main 
body of the “old church building.” 

Precisely at fifteen minutes to one o’clock, Tom, 
assuming an air of coolness which belied his real 
feelings, presented himself to the second prefect of 
the large yard. 

“Mr. Beakey,” he said, politely raising his cap, 
“could you please tell me who is the captain of the 
big boys?” 

“Captain!” repeated Mr. Beakey, banteringly. 
“They don’t need a captain to rout out you little 
fellows.” 

“ Maybe they think they don’t, Mr. Beakey; but I 
hope they’ll change their minds. Well, if there 
isn’t any captain, couldn’t I please have a talk with 
some of the leaders?” 

“ Certainly,— not the least objection,” answered 
the prefect, in an encouraging tone; for he per- 
ceived that Tom was strangely timid and embar- 
rassed. 

“And eh — eh, Mr. Beakey,” continued Tom, 
blushing and hanging his head, “could I please 


TOM PLAYFAIR, 


183 

have the key of your class-room, so’s we can go up 
there and fix our plans? It wont take more than 
two minutes.” 

The prefect handed Tom the required key. “ Oh, 
thank you, Mr. Beakey! and please, sir, will you 
ring the bell for the assault to begin as soon as I 
come down ?” 

“Yes; anything else on your mind?” 

“Yes, sir; just one thing more. I want to see 
Carmody, Ryan, McNeff, McCoy, Drew, AVill 
Cleary, Ziegler, Arthur, and Miller.” 

“Are those the leaders?” 

“I think so, sir,” answered Tom modestly. 

“You have their names pat; probably you’ll find 
most of them in the reading-room, and a few in the 
play-room.” 

Tom sought them out at once. They were not a 
little amused at his proposition to hold a meeting; 
but good-naturedly yielded, and followed him over 
to the class-room building. 

“I say,” said Tom, as they trudged up the stairs, 
“ how long do you expect us to hold the fort ?” 

“ If you hold it five minutes, you’ll be doing well,” 
volunteered Miller, with a grin. 

“ Perhaps you may hold out fifteen minutes or so,” 
remarked Carmody, with a view to encouraging the 
young captain. 

“Well, I’ll tell you what,” said Tom; “ if we 
stand it out half an hour, will you agree in the 
name of the big fellows to give up the fighting, and 
allow the victory to us?” 

“Of course.” “I should say so!” “Yes, sir,” 
came the general chorus; and as they spoke Car- 
mody winked solemnly at Ryan, Wijl Cleary put his 


84 


TOM PLAYFAIR. 


finger to his eye, and a general grin passed from 
face to face. 

“Well,” said the object of this subdued and ill- 
concealed merriment, as he unlocked the door of 
Mr. Beakey’s class-room, “if you’ll walk in, we’ll 
settle everything in less than no time.” 

Tom stood holding the door open, with the key 
in the lock, waiting in all innocence and politeness 
for the wily leaders of the large yard to enter. All 
entered, still grinning. Suddenly, Tom sprang from 
the room, and the door banged after him, while 
coming close upon the slam grated the ominous 
sound of the key turning in the lock, followed by 
the quick patter of light feet down the stairs. 

The hard-hitters of the large yard were prisoners. 


CHAPTER XX. 

STORMING OF THE SNOW FORT.— MR. BEAKEY TALKS AT 
CROSS PURPOSES WITH THE SENIOR STUDENTS. 

“^H, Mr. Beakey,” shouted Tom a few moments 
vJ later, “ring the bell, please — we’ve got every- 
thing fixed the way I want it. And — I came near 
forgetting it — wont you please time us? The fight 
isn’t to go beyond half an hour. If we last it out 
half an hour, we win, you know.” With which 
words, Tom started off at break-neck speed for 
the fort; and such progress did he make that he 
was within a few yards of his intrenchments when 
the college bell gave the signal for the beginning 
of hostilities. 


TOM PLAYFAIR, 


185 

The sound of the bell, coupled with Tom’s ap- 
pearance, drew shrill, hearty cheers from the little 
boys, as standing, snowballs in hand, they impa- 
tiently awaited the onset. 

By way of echo, a hoarser, deeper sound came 
from the large yard; it was the battle cry of the 
large boys, confidently moving to victory. 

Scarcely had these raucous cheers been fairly 
heard, when their authors, thus far screened from 
the eyes of the small boys by the intervening build- 
ing, appeared in full view, as they came rushing 
round the corner of the “ little boys’ dormitory.” 

Forthwith, a few balls began to fall harmlessly 
about the fort. 

“They might as well send olf sky-rockets,” re- 
marked Conway. 

“Boys,” said Tom, “don’t throw a single ball till 
I give the word. Be sure not to forget. All you 
have to do for the present is to keep your eyes open 
and dodge every ball.” 

Thicker, swifter, oftener, straighter, came the 
snowballs; nearer and nearer the attacking party. 

“Hi! hi! Come, clear out of that, little chaps!” 
shouted Fanning, who was well in the front of his 
party. “Come and put us out!” came the answer 
from Conway. 

“ Come on, boys,” continued the energetic aggres- 
sor, “let’s charge ’em.” 

Inspirited by Fanning’s advice, the large boys 
gave a rousing cheer. 

“Now, give it ’em,” bawled Fanning, as he came 
within about fifty feet of the fort. 

In prompt obedience to this order, a shower of 
snowballs made the air white; and two of the small 


TOM PLAYFAIR. 


1 86 

boys, each holding his hand to his nose, marked 
their way to the infirmary with a trail of crimson. 

“Whoop-la! Now’s our time,” cried Tom, as the 
large boys stooped for a fresh supply of snow. 
“Fire!” 

As ball after ball whizzed into the ranks of the 
besiegers, their expressions of enthusiasm, so multi- 
tudinous before, shaded off into blended expressions 
of astonishment and uneasiness. Presently, how- 
ever, astonishment pure and simple stamped itself 
on their faces; for before they had fairly begun to 
dodge the well-directed balls of the small boys, the 
shrill cry of “ Charge!” came from the fort upon 
their startled ears, and presto! there issued at a run 
twenty-five of the small yard’s chosen sharp-shooters. 

Whiz! whiz! whiz! whiz! 

This was too much. Amidst the shouts and taunts 
of the small boys, the crash of cymbal, beat of drum 
and blare of trumpet — all purloined from the music- 
room by the ingenious Conway — the large boys of 
St. Maure’s turned tail and fled! Not all, however. 

In the confusion of onset. Fanning and a few of 
the unterrified resorted to a manoeuvre. Quietly 
slipping aside they allowed pursued and pursuers 
to pass, then suddenly advanced upon the fort. 

But the smaller boys inside were thrilled with the 
martial spirit of their leaders; they fought bravely. 
Still, the issue could hardly be looked upon as 
doubtful. Slowly but inevitably the hope of the 
large yard advanced. Fanning’s voice was becom- 
ing “hoarse with joy.” He hoped that in a few 
moments the works of the enemy would be his. But 
he reckoned without his host. 

He was still urging his men on, forgetful of the 


TOM PLAYFAIR, 187 

sharp-shooters in his wake, when Tom’s voice rose 
above the din. 

“Hold the fort, for we are coming,’’ bawled the 
young Sherman ; and as he spoke he laid his hand 
on Fanning’s shoulder. 

“ Do you surrender?’’ continued Tom. 

Fanning with his contingent turned, only to find 
that he was hemmed in by twenty-five warriors bold. 

“Never!’’ shouted Fanning, as with a vigorous 
shove he tumbled Tom over into the snow. “We’ll 
die first.’’ 

“Then die!’’ said Keenan; and forthwith twenty- 
four small boys fell upon the unterrified — outnum- 
bering them, I must say, three to one, — brought them 
to the earth, bound them, dragged them behind the 
intrenchments, oblivious in the mean time of the 
galling fire of the main body of the enemy, who 
were content to remain, however, at a safe distance. 

From that moment, the fighting on the part of the 
large boys was tame. Deprived of their most skil- 
ful throwers, whose absence they had not noticed at 
the beginning of hostilities, and without the leader- 
ship of Fanning, they displayed a “ masterly inac- 
tivity.’’ 

Whenever the junior students issued forth for a 
charge, they had a capital opportunity of observing 
the elegance and variety of the senior students’ coat- 
tails. 

In the mean time, the prefects and several of the 
professors stood looking on. Among them was Mr. 
Beakey. He had a quick eye, and it struck him, 
presently, that a number of the large boys were 
absent. Where could they be ? 

His suspicions were aroused. Perhaps they had 


i88 


TOM PLAYFAIR. 


taken advantage of his being a new prefect — he had 
arrived in St. Maure’s but a few weeks previous — to 
slip up to the village. Perhaps — dreadful thought! 
— they might come back to college intoxicated. 
Mr. Beakey was familiar with stories of boarding- 
schools, and he remembered some sad cases of youth- 
ful intemperance. 

He gave a sigh, took out his note-book, and ran 
over the list of the boys. His face grew longer as 
he read and compared. Yes, all the leaders, the 
very boys whom Tom had asked for, were missing. 

“ This is too bad,” he muttered to himself. “ They 
are the last boys I would suspect of acting under- 
hand. I do hope they wont do anything to disgrace 
the college. They’re all good boys, and it would 
be a pity to have even one of them expelled. It’s 
a pity I don’t know the boys better. But perhaps 
they’re about in some corner or other. I’ll make 
sure of that point first. ” 

Just then, Tom, on a grand triumphant charge, 
came sweeping past him. Regardless of the flying 
missiles, Mr. Beakey caught up with him. 

“Playfair,” he cried, raising his voice above the 
din, “ do you know anything about Carmody, Ryan, 
and those other boys you asked leave to speak to ? 
Where are they ?” 

Mr. Beakey’s face as he spoke was clouded. 
Tom judged the expression to be one of vexation, 
and inferred, boy-like, that the prefect was not at 
all pleased at seeing his boys routed. 

“I’ll tell him the story,” thought Tom, “after 
the battle, when he’s not so excited. If I tell him 
now he’ll give me a big scolding.” 

So he replied demurely: 


TOM PLAYFAIR. 189 

“Mr. Beakey, wont you please excuse me? But, 
really, I’d rather not tell.” 

This answer confirmed Mr. Beakey’s worst sus- 
picions. 

“There’s no doubt about it,” he muttered, as he 
made his way out of the thick of the fight. “ These 
boys have stolen away to the village. But I do 
hope they’ll not drink anything.” 

Mr. Beakey took out his watch. He started; it 
was two minutes beyond the half hour agreed upon. 
Hastening to his own yard, he rang the bell. 

A great scream rose from the throats of a hundred 
small boys, as, in the full flush of victory, they 
charged their vanquished seniors for the last time. 
It was a disgraceful rout. 

No sooner had the bell sounded than Tom quickly 
pattered to the class-room building, stealthily has- 
tened up the staircase, and under cover of the cries 
of victory without, and the growling of the prisoners 
within, unlocked the door. He then hurried away, 
entrusted Mr. Beakey’s key to the care of a large 
boy, and returned to his proper yard, — there to 
receive congratulations and fight his battles o’er 
again. 

In the class-room which he had just left, however, 
there were no congratulations exchanged. Carmody 
and Ryan were sulking in a corner; Ziegler was 
elaborately writing “ sold again” on the black-board ; 
Will Cleary was whistling the “Last Rose of Sum- 
mer,” after the manner of a dirge; while Miller 
paced up and down between the benches like a caged 
tiger. 

“ Confound it !” burst forth McNeff. “ I was never 
so badly taken in since I came here.” 


90 


TOM PLAYFAIR. 


“You haven’t been here so long; you’re young 
yet,’’ was Ryan’s consolatory reflection, 

“This is a pretty how-de-do,” growled Cleary. 
“ Every mule in the yard will have the laugh on us.” 

“ I’ll paralyze the first fellow that laughs at me,” 
said McCoy. 

“Just imagine the grin on Fanning’s face,” mut- 
tered Carmody, 

The task of imagining Fanning’s grin seemed to 
be attended with some difficulties, for it induced a 
silence that lasted for several minutes. 

“Isn’t that little wretch ever coming back to un- 
lock this door?” cried Arthur, at length. “The 
fight’s been over nearly an hour. Hasn’t any one 
got a button-hook ?” 

There was a sullen silence. 

“ Well, come on,” continued Arthur, “ let’s go to 
the window, and catch some fellow’s eye, and get 
him to open up for us.” 

“For goodness’ sake!” cried Ryan, “don’t. 
There’ll be laughing enough at us as it is. But if 
the fellows once know we’re here, they’ll march up 
in procession to let us out.” 

“Well,” said Ziegler, “I don’t propose to stay 
here forever. I wonder couldn’t I squeeze through 
the transom ?” 

“You might try,” said Carmody encouragingly. 
“And who knows but the key is still in the lock? 
It would be just like that brat of a small boy to 
leave it there, and forget all about it. Small boys 
are nuisances.” 

While Carmody was speaking, Ziegler had taken 
off his coat and vest. 

“Now, boys, give me a lift,” he said. 


TOM PLAYFAIR, 


191 

Eager hands came to his help — a trifle too eager, 
perhaps; for Ziegler was hurried through the aper- 
ture in such wise that he came down on the other 
side on hands and knees. 

“You’re a lot of lunatics!” he volunteered as he 
arose, “you’d think I was insured for a fortune, and 
had two or three necks to break. There isn’t any 
key here.” 

“ Try and break the door in,” suggested McCoy. 

“All right! Get away from the door, then,” 
returned Ziegler. 

He stepped back a few paces, and then made a 
violent rush at the door, catching and turning the 
knob as he threw the whole weight of his body 
against the woodwork. 

The door flew open, and Ziegler flew in. His 
flying progress was arrested by Cleary, who was 
rendered breathless and brought to the floor with 
his friend on top. 

While the two unfortunates were ruefully picking 
themselves up, the others broke into a ringing laugh. 

“Shut up!” roared Ziegler, when he could com- 
mand his breath. “You’re a lot of fools! You 
might have known that door was unlocked.” 

“That’s a fact,” assented Carmody. “It’s funny 
it didn’t occur to you. You’re a pretty sharp fellow, 
you know.” 

“Aw! tell us something new,” snarled Ziegler. 

“Oh! why doesn’t somebody hit me hard?” apos- 
trophized Ryan. “AVe’ve been mooning in here 
over an hour and a half, and that door’s been open 
over a century.” 

Slowly and sadly they went down the stairs, each 
pne trying to get behind the other, — a feat in which 


192 


TOM PLAYFAIR, 


all, of course, did not succeed. On emerging into 
the yard, they breathed more freely when they per- 
ceived that no one was outside but Mr. Beakey, who 
had been anxiously scanning the four quarters in 
hope of discovering their whereabouts. 

“Boys,” said the prefect, whose suspicions were 
confirmed by their sheepish looks and blushing faces, 
“you’re caught — there’s no getting out of it.” 

“Well, that’s so, Mr. Beakey,” said Carmody, 
trying to be easy and failing; “we might as well 
acknowledge it. We’ve been stupid.” 

“ So, you don’t offer any excuses?” exclaimed Mr. 
Beakey, in astonishment. 

“Oh! — well — it was only in fun, sir,” said Ryan, 
whose sheepishness had now grown intense. 

“Only in fun!” gasped Mr. Beakey. “Fun! fun! 
that’s not my idea of fun.” 

“Why, it’s not so very serious, Mr. Beakey,” said 
Cleary, in a conciliatory tone. “And I hope,” he 
continued, “you wont punish Playfair on account 
of it.” 

Mr. Beakey remembered Tom’s embarrassment. 

“What!” he exclaimed. “Do you mean to say 
that that little innocent was concerned in it?” 

“Why, he was at the bottom of the whole matter,” 
broke in Carmody, in astonishment at the prefect’s 
obtuseness. “And let me tell you, he’s not so inno- 
cent, either; he’s up to more tricks than any boy 
twice his size in this college — confound him!” 

“ Really,” said the prefect, in a troubled voice, 
“ the case is far worse than I thought. Boys, I 
didn’t expect it of you. I thought you had more 
sense.” 

General sheepishness at its maximum. Some 


TOM PLAYFAIR. 193 

grinning helplessly. Majority gazing at their 
feet. 

“Frankly,” he continued, “I am very sorry on 
your account. 

“Oh, don’t bother about us, sir,” put in Cleary; 
“ we can stand being laughed at.” 

“Laughed at!” echoed the prefect in dismay; 
“ do you mean to say that such things are matter for 
laughter to the students of this college?” 

“Why, certainly,” said Ryan, no less puzzled than 
the prefect. “And, in fact, I guess we’ll have to 
laugh the thing off ourselves.” 

“There, now, that’ll do,” said Mr. Beakey 
sternly. “ I see that not one of you is in a condi- 
tion to talk sense. You will repent your words to- 
morrow, when you regain the proper use of your 
reason.” 

The boys exchanged glances of perplexity. For 
the first time, they began to suspect that they were 
talking at cross purposes. 

“Come, now,” continued the prefect, “tell the 
exact truth. How long were you up ?” 

(Mr. Beakey meant uptown; the boys thought 
that he had reference to the class-room.) 

“Over an hour,” said Carmody. 

“And how much did each one of you take?” 

The boys again looked at each other. 

“Do you mean chalk, sir?” ventured Ziegler. 
“ I took a small piece, but meant no harm,” and he 
produced from his pocket a bit of black-board 
chalk. 

Mr. Beakey flushed with anger. 

“There wasn’t anything else to take but ink,” 
continued Ziegler, “and none of us wanted any.” 

13 


194 


TOM PLAYFAIR. 


This made matters worse. Mr, Beakey now felt 
confident that the boys were quizzing him. 

“ Enough of this nonsense,” he said. “You need 
not make your case worse than it is by untimely 
joking. You have already acknowledged that you 
are fairly caught. I missed you from the yard be- 
fore you were gone five minutes — and you have 
shown some signs of sorrow ; you have acknowledged 
that you were “uptown” for over an hour; your 
shamefaced expressions and flushed faces show the 
effects of your indiscretion — there’s a clear case 
against you. So, now, you may as well out with the 
whole thing, and tell how much you took.” 

The astonishment that deepened on each one’s 
face with each remark of Mr. Beakey culminated 
in a look of comic amazement; the misunderstanding 
was too ridiculous. Mr. Beakey’s last question was 
the signal for a hearty burst of laughter. 

“Boys! boys!” implored Mr. Beakey, “for good- 
ness’ sake don’t create a scene!” 

Restraining his mirth, Ryan explained the misun- 
derstanding; and as he spoke, it was delightful to 
see how the wrinkles and frowns disappeared from 
the prefect’s brow, and how the firm-set, stern lines 
about the mouth softened into the brightest of smiles. 

‘‘Well, boys,” he said, when Ryan had detailed 
their adventures, “I acknowledge that I’ve made a 
big blunder, and I ask your pardon. I don’t know 
the ropes yet, you see. But sincerely, I am glad 
that I am in the wrong.” 

There was a whispered consultation among the 
boys; then Ryan spoke: 

“ Mr. Beakey, we want you to do us a favor. You 
and that Playfair boy are the only ones that know 


TOM PLA YFAIR. 


195 


of the way we were taken in — we’ll make him keep 
quiet, if you’ll promise to say nothing to any one 
about it.” 

“You can trust me,” answered Mr. Beakey, “not 
a soul shall hear of it from my lips.” 

“Thank you, sir,” came the general chorus. 

Tom was easily induced to hold his tongue on the 
subject; so, too, was George Keenan (who had sug- 
gested the plot to Tom) ; and so the “true inward- 
ness” of the big boys’ failure to take the snow fort 
now becomes public for the first time. 


CHAPTER XXI. 

IN WHICH TOM MEETS WITH A BITTER TRIAL. 

I N the events I have narrated as happening after 
the night of the first Friday in November, I have 
purposely avoided enlarging upon the grief and 
horror of that dreadful accident. 

One would think, judging from what I have related 
of Tom, that our cheerful little hero had been 
strangely unimpressed by the tragic incident. This, 
however, is a wrong inference. True, Tom, by 
being sent to the infirmary, was wisely spared the 
sad sights incident upon the burial of his two friends. 
After leaving the dormitory, he never saw the face 
of Green again, — face more beautiful and composed 
in death than it had ever been in the years of col- 
lege life. Nor did he ever again see the face of the 
gentle boy who had asked his prayers. Had he 
seen it, he would have recognized the same beautiful 
expression which had thrown a halo upon the coun- 


96 


TOM PLAYFAIR. 


tenance when the boy had uttered “ Sweet Heart of 
Jesus, be my Love.” 

Nevertheless, the accident had deeply affected 
Tom. He knew that his own escape from instant 
death had fallen little short of a miracle; and every 
night from his inmost heart he thanked God that 
he had been spared to make his First Communion. 
That Green had been taken away just as he had 
conquered his passions and made a start for the 
better, and that Alec had been called to God on the 
very day he had completed his ninth First Friday, 
seemed to Tom to be a wondrous manifestation of 
God’s mercy. It was a lesson, too. 

It filled his little heart with a burning desire to 
receive Our Lord in the sacrament of His love. 
Among Catholic boys — as I have known them — such 
feelings and affections show themselves outwardly 
in a somewhat negative manner. They do not 
manifest themselves in deed and conversation, save 
by increased carefulness in avoiding anything sinful. 

Joke and jest, play and study, may go on in all 
seeming as before. But the change, for all that, 
may be radical and life-long. 

It was a happy day for Tom when on the fifteenth 
of February the First Communion Class was organ- 
ized. I dare say that no small boy who ever attended 
St. Maure’s set about the work of preparation as 
Tom did. Each day he had his catechism lesson 
prepared with a thoroughness that was beyond criti- 
cism. Nor, in the mean time, did he neglect his 
other studies. Indeed, owing to his long absence, 
it became necessary for him to apply himself very 
hard, in order to put himself on a fair footing with 
his classmates. Unfortunately, the semi-annual ex- 


TOM PLAYFAIR. 


197 


aminations were upon him before he could repeat 
all the class matter he had missed, and when, on the 
22d of February, the class-standing was published, 
Tpm stood at the foot of his class, with but sixty 
merit marks out , of a hundred. 

“I hope my father won’t get mad about it,” he 
remarked to Harry Quip; and as he spoke he looked 
quite serious. 

“Oh! I’m sure he won’t mind it,” said Harry. 
“He knows you’ve missed several weeks.” 

“Yes, but pa’s getting mighty strict. He thinks 
I’m awful careless. The fact is, we like each other 
immensely, but pa doesn’t know what to make of me. ” 

In these few words Tom had set down their rela- 
tions quite clearly. Mr. Playfair loved his boy; 
but as for understanding him, that was another 
question. Clearly, if Mr. Playfair had ever been a 
boy himself, he had either forgotten that circum- 
stance or he had been cast in quite a different mould 
from his son. The wall of misunderstanding had 
been rising higher between them ever since Tom 
reached the age of reason. Such relations between 
father and son are not uncommon. 

Tom’s forebodings on this occasion were not with- 
out foundation. Several days later he was sum- 
moned to the President’s room. On entering, he 
saw at once from the reverend Father’s face that 
something had gone wrong. 

“Ah! Tommy; how are you studying?” 

“ Pretty hard, sir.” 

“And how are you getting on with your teacher?” 

“ I like him very much. If he’s got anything 
against me lately he hasn’t told me anything about 


198 


TOM PLAYFAIR. 


“Are you sure you’ve had no trouble lately?” 

“Yes, Father; I’m getting ready for my First 
Communion.” 

“Well, Tom, I’ve very bad news for you.” 

“Anybody sick at home, sir?” 

“No; it regards yourself. Your father is very 
much displeased with your bulletin.” 

“Oh, I got low notes because I missed a lot of 
classes. Mr. Middleton says I’ve caught up 
already.” 

“ Your father knew you had been absent, too, but 
there must have been something more in your bulle- 
tin, — some remark which indicated that you were 
not giving satisfaction; for your father sends me 
imperative orders to take you out of the Communion 
Class at once.” 

A strange expression came over Tom’s face. 
Every nerve seemed to be a-quiver. Till that mo- 
ment, Tom himself had had no idea of the ardent 
desire with which he looked forward to his “ day of 
days.” 

“ Don’t take it too much to heart, my boy,” con- 
tinued the President, both touched and edified at 
the way in which Tom received the news. “ I have 
a hope that further examination will discover some 
mistake. You mustn’t give up hope yet. I’ll in- 
quire about your bulletin, and find out just how 
things stand, as soon as possible.” 

“Thank you, Father,” said Tom. 

“In the mean time, offer your trial to God, my 
boy. It comes from Him. His ways are not our 
ways. And when He sends us trials. He wishes us 
to bear up under them cheerfully.” 

“I’ll try to swallow it, sir. But it’s rough.” 


TOM PLA YFAIR. 


199 


Tom went directly to the chapel, prostrated him- 
self before the Blessed Sacrament, and there prayed 
fervently. When he entered, he was dazed, bewil- 
dered; when he left, three minutes later, he was 
comparatively calm. There is no sorrow that prayer 
cannot soothe; and children’s sorrows, God be 
thanked for it, are quickest to yield their bitterness 
to fervent prayer. 

No one observing Tom playing at “foot-and-a- 
half,” within that same hour, could imagine that 
the nimble lad, all gayety and motion, had just met 
the second great sorrow of his life. The death of 
his mother had been the first. 

A week elapsed before he was again summoned 
by the President. 

“Well, Tom, things are looking a little brighter. 
There’s been a grave blunder. Report was sent to 
your father that your conduct had been ‘highly unsat- 
isfactory. ’ Now those words were put in your bul- 
letin by some clerical error. They belonged to some 
other boy’s. I have just written your father how 
matters stand, and I’m quite sure that all will be 
right within a week.” 

Tom grinned excessively, and, finding some diffi- 
culty in keeping both feet upon the floor, hastened 
to leave the room; whereupon he danced, all the 
way back to his yard. 

And till news came from Mr. Playfair, Tom was 
in great glee. How eagerly he hastened to the 
President’s room to hear the final word! He entered 
all aglow and smiling, but the glow gave way to 
ashen whiteness and the smile disappeared instantane- 
ously. Something there was in the President’s face 
which warned him that his troubles were not yet over. 


200 


TOM PLAYFAIR. 


“Tve been a little surprised, Tom, by the tenor 
of your father’s letter. He says he is glad to learn 
that your conduct is so satisfactory, and that you 
are doing so well in your studies; but he adds that 
he has been doubting for some time about the pro- 
priety of your making First Communion, on other 
grounds ” 

“ I used to give lots of trouble at home,” explained 
Tom humbly. “ I guess pa thinks I need more 
time to reform.” 

“He is acting through love for you, Tom; he 
wants to make sure that you are well prepared. He 
suspects that your levity of disposition is a sign that 
you are too young.” 

“Yes,” assented Tom sadly, “I’d be: better off if 
I could go around with a long face.” 

“However,” added the President, suppressing a 
smile, “he leaves the matter in my hands.” 

Tom brightened at once. 

“Judging from the drift of his letter, though, I 
think that he would prefer you to wait.” 

Tom’s face fell again. 

“ Now, my boy, you have your choice. If you 
insist, I shall allow you to rejoin the Communion 
Class.” 

Tom thought for a moment, then suddenly a light 
flashed from his eyes, — the light of an inspiration. 

“Father, I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll give it 
up for this year.” 

He did not explain his reasons, but for the Father 
no explanation was needed. Tom had taken the 
side of strict obedience and of sacrifice. 

“God will bless you for that resolution, my boy. 
Your Communion, when it comes, will be all the 


TOM PLAYFAIR. 


201 


happier; and even if you have been disobedient at 
times, the act you have now made will more than 
atone. You have chosen wisely, and God’s blessing 
will be upon the choice.” 

Tom departed happy. But the pain and struggle 
were not over. At times an intense longing would 
come upon our little friend. 

On the feast of St. Joseph’s Patronage, .when six- 
teen little lads knelt at the altar to receive for the 
first time their divine Master, Tom’s eyes became 
very moist. One tear trickled down his honest face, 
and with the dropping of that tear all his sadness 
was gone. 

There was no relaxation in his studies, meantime. 
Looking forward to his First Communion, he conse- 
crated every day to preparation; and so, when the 
last examination came, Tom won highest honors in 
his class, with ninety-nine merit marks after his 
name. 

Poor Tom! Between him and his Communion 
another tragic experience was to intervene. Upon 
this roguish little boy God seemed to have special 
designs. 


CHAPTER XXII. 

IN WHICH TOM WINS A NEW FRIEND AND HEARS A 
STRANGE STORY. 

I T must be said in justice to Mr. Playfair that 
Tom’s record during the last half of school 
pleased him very much. 

Indeed, he expressed his pleasure in such terms on 


202 


TOAf PLAYFAIR. 


their meeting again that Tom blushed to the tips 
of his ears. 

“ Say, pa, what about my Communion ?” 

“You can make it, my boy, just as soon as the 
President allows you next year. Perhaps I was a 
little severe on you, but it has done you good.” 

And, indeed, there could be no doubt about Tom’s 
improvement, though truth compels me to add that 
he made things very lively indeed at home during 
the two months of vacation. 

On returning to college, he had a long talk with 
the President, the issue of which was, that Ton. 
should prepare under the reverend Father’s personal 
direction to receive his Lord at Christmas. 

That Christmas was to be the turning-point in 
our hero’s life. 

September passed quietly. Towards the end of 
the month Tom came upon a new friend. 

He was sauntering about the yard one bright 
afternoon, when his attention was caught by the 
following dialogue: 

“ He’s homesick !” 

“ He wants his ma!” 

“Give him a little doll, in a nice gold-paper 
dress!” 

These were a few of the remarks from John Pitch 
and a few others of the same ilk, addressed to a 
timid-looking lad, around whom they had rudely 
gathered. Just then Tom and Harry chanced to be 
passing by. 

“ What’s the matter ?” inquired Tom of the victim. 

“He wants his ma, but you’ll do, Playfair,” vol- 
unteered John Pitch. 

“You’re a mean set, to be teasing a poor new- 


TOM PLAYFAIR. 


203 


comer, who hasn’t got any friends,” exclaimed Tom, 
his eyes flashing. 

“ Mind your business, Playfair,” said Pitch. 

“Yes, and you mind yours, and let the poor new 
kid alone. Come on, Johnny What’s-your-name, 
and have a game of catch. Here, take some candy. ” 

Tom’s new friend, James Aldine, said very little, 
but his eyes spoke volumes of gratitude. He was a 
quiet, olive-complexioned boy. His eyes, dark and 
heavily shaded, had a trick of passing from an ex- 
pression of gentle timidity to one of marked fear. 
Tom, who at once took a liking to the new-comer, 
soon came to notice this change of countenance, and 
as the days slipped by and their intimacy increased, 
Tom’s wonder grew. He was puzzled, and, being 
an outspoken boy, was only waiting a favorable op- 
portunity of satisfying his curiosity. At last the 
occasion presented itself. 

It was the second week of October, when he and 
James found themselves alone on the prairie, fully 
two miles from the college. The average boy can 
make an intimate friend in something under a week. 
The intercourse of these two had already gone be- 
yond that period, and Tom felt himself fully justified 
in remarking: 

“What makes you look so scared, Jimmy?” 

“ Do I look scared ?” 

“ Just as if you had been training a large stock of 
ghosts, and hadn’t succeeded.” 

Jimmy shivered, and his face paled. 

“Halloa! now, I say,” cried Tom, clapping him 
heartily on the back; “what is the matter, any- 
how ?” 

“Oh, Tom,” and Jimmy’s long-pent emotions 


204 


TOM PLAYFAIR, 


escaped in a flood of tears, “I’m afraid of being 
murdered.” 

“ What ?” gasped Tom. 

“ Just listen. You know where I live, about sixty- 
five miles from this place, on a large farm. Last year 
a new-comer moved near us, named Hartnett. He 
was a short, dark, ugly-looking man, with bristling 
black whiskers. He lived all alone, about a mile 
from our folks, and seldom said a word to anybody. 
One night, about a month ago, I happened to pass 
by his house, when I heard a noise inside, as if some 
one were trying to shout, but couldn’t; then I heard 
a tremendous hubbub, as if there was a scuffle; 
then the crack of a pistol, and then all was still 
again. In spite of my fright, I crept up to the win- 
dow, and, oh, Tom, how I was frightened! On the 
floor lay a man in a pool of blood, and over him 
stood that dark man, looking still darker. I was so 
frightened that I couldn’t stir, and there I stood 
with my face against the window-pane. Somehow, 
I couldn’t move. Then my heart gave a great 
jump, when suddenly Hartnett’s eyes met mine. 
At first he turned deadly pale, then he swore a 
dreadful oath and made for the door. As he moved, 
my strength came back, and I tell you I ran down 
the road at full speed; yet not so fast but that I 
could hear his heavy breathing as he followed. Oh, 
it was awful — that run through the dark woods! I 
don’t think I’ll ever be as frightened again, not 
even when I come to die. Even as I ran, I could 
tell that he was gaining on me; and I called to God 
to help me, and prayed as I had never prayed before. 
At last his hand was on my collar, and he had me 
tight. He pressed me to the earth with one hand. 


TOM PLAYFAIR 


205 


and with the other pulled a knife from his bosom. 
I shut my eyes and said what I thought was to be my 
last prayer. Suddenly his grasp loosened. I opened 
my eyes and saw he had changed his mind. 
‘Boy,’ he said, in a tone that froze my blood, ‘kneel 
down. ’ As I took the position, he held me closely. 
‘I know you,’ he said, ‘and you needn’t fear I’ll 
ever forget your face ; now swear never to tell what 
you saw in my house. ’ Then he put me through a 
dreadful oath, and swore that if ever I opened my 
lips about what had happened that night he would 
kill me with most awful tortures.” Here James 
paused, and trembled in every limb. 

Tom put his hands in his trousers’ pockets, and 
stood with his legs wide apart. It was his method 
of expressing astonishment. 

“Gracious!” he said, “but he’s a bad man! You 
oughtn’t to be afraid of him, though.” 

“But I am; it is not so much fear of him as of 
my conduct that worries me. Sometimes I wonder 
whether I have to keep such an oath. Do you think 
I have?” 

“I haven’t got that far in my catechism yet,” 
said Tom ; “ but I can ask my teacher. Why, what’s 
the matter ?” 

As Tom was speaking, a look of horror had come 
upon Jimmy’s face. 

“Oh, Tom, Pve broken my oath. I’ve told you 
the secret without thinking of it.” 

Tom was startled. His hands went deeper into 
his pockets and his legs spread wider. 

“Well,” he inquired, after a few moments’ peflec- 
tion, “ you didn’t mean to break your oath, did you ?” 

“ Honor bright, I didn’t,” protested James. 


2o6 


TOM PLAYFAIR. 


“Well, then, it isn’t any sin; because you can’t 
commit a sin unless you mean to — that’s what we are 
told in catechism. But if I’d been in your place I 
wouldn’t have taken that oath. I’d have died first. ” 

“Well, do you think I’m obliged to keep it?” 

“I don’t know about that. I’ll tell you what; 
I’ll ask the President about it, so’s he won’t know 
that I mean any particular boy. What do you say 
to that ?” 

“I think it’s a good idea.” 

Before night, Tom had inquired of the President 
and learned that an oath taken under compulsion 
was not binding. 

“But,” said James, when this news was imparted 
to him, “ what shall I do about it ? Do you think 
it my duty to tell on him?” 

“I don’t know, Jim; you’d better think about it. 
Come on, let’s play catch;” and Tom produced a 
Spalding league from his pocket. They were hard at 
it, when Harry came running up in great excitement. 

“I say,” he began, “have you heard what the 
Red Clippers have done?” 

“No; what?” inquired both in a breath. 

“ They have put up, as a prize, a fancy base-ball 
bat and a barrel of apples to any club in the yard 
that plays ’em a decent game inside of a month.” 

The “Red Clippers” was the banner base-ball 
club of the small yard, and the players were the 
strongest, hardiest, most skilful and most active of 
the junior students. They were the constant theme 
of admiration among all the little boys, — an admi- 
ration not unmerited, inasmuch as the Red Clippers 
had over and over again defeated the best middle- 
sized nine of the large yard. A challenge, conse- 


TOM PLAYFAIR. 207 

quently, from their nine, was, in the eyes of all, an 
opportunity to win glory. 

“I’ll tell you what,” said Tom, “let’s get up a 
club to beat ’em.” 

James Aldine smiled, and looked at Tom as 
though he doubted the seriousness of this offer. 

“Get out!” said Harry in disdain. “We’ll have 
to grow several inches, and swell out in every direc- 
tion, before we’ll be able to beat them.” 

“That’s what you say,” retorted Tom. “But 
we’ll see about that. Now, look here! Harry, you 
can curve, can’t you?” 

“A little,” was Harry’s modest reply. 

“Very well; you’ll pitch and I’ll catch. We’ll 
practise together and fix things so as to fool some 
of those fellows. Joe Whyte may hold down first 
base; he’s a good jumper, and isn’t afraid of any- 
thing you can throw at him. Willie Ruthers can 
play second base, and you, Jimmy, can try short 
stop. Harry Conly seems to be a pretty good little 
chap, and he can hold down third. Then, we can 
put Harry Underwood in right, he’s a gorgeous 
thrower; Frank McRoy in centre, he’s got long legs 
and can cover a great deal of ground ; and Lawrence 
Lery in left, he’s a good fly-swallower.” 

“Pshaw!” grumbled Harry. “All those fellows 
you’ve named are little tads. Do you expect to 
beat the Red Clippers with them?” 

“ That’s about it.” 

“Beat the Red Clippers!” reiterated Harry. 

“ That’s just what I said, if we take a few weeks 
for practice.” 

“ Hire a hall ?” said Harry. 

“Just wait, will you? Now, you and Jim go 


2o8 


TOM PLAYFAIR. 


round quietly and get our fellows together, without 
letting any of the other boys know what’s going on.” 

With but little delay, the boys in question were 
brought together; whereupon Tom in a low voice 
unfolded his plans. At first his hearers received the 
idea of beating the Red Clippers as a bit of unin- 
tentional pleasantry, but as Tom went on, they 
settled into earnestness in such wise, that when he 
came to a pause, all yielded -the readiest assent to his 
wishes, and despite Tom’s modest disclaimer elected 
him captain, manager, and trainer of the new club. 

From that time on, Tom saw to it that his men 
were practising constantly; and yet their training 
was so unobtrusive, so “hidden under a bushel,” as 
to excite no comment among their playmates. 

After breakfast and supper, for instance, McRoy, 
Underwood, and Conly would take extreme corners 
in the yard and give the whole recreation-time to 
the catching of “high flies;” the basemen would 
practise the stopping of “ grounders” and the catch- 
ing of line balls; while Tom and Harry, with the 
prefect’s permission, would go behind the old 
church and employ their time at “battery work.” 
Tom was a plucky little catcher, and even if he 
failed sometimes of holding a ball he was not afraid 
to stop it. His main idea in regard to practising 
with Harry was to initiate that young pitcher into 
such tricks as Tom’s small experience could supply. 

Whenever half-holiday came he and his men, in- 
stead of going out for a walk, remained in the yard. 
Then, when the play-ground was fairly well cleared, 
he would put his basemen on the bases, his pitch- 
er in the box, and his three fielders in turn at the bat. 

It was a pleasing sight to see how deftly these 


TOM PLAYFAIR. 


209 


knickerbockered lads handled the ball. See the 
pitcher, bending his fingers into almost impossible 
positions round the ball ! He is preparing to deliver 
an “ in-curve.” Whiz! there it goes, right over the 
plate, whack! into Tom’s hands; and the boy with 
the bat wonders how he came to miss it. From the 
way Tom throws it at the second baseman, you 
would think it was a matter of life and death. But 
it is thrown too high; however, Aldine seems to 
think the catching of it to be likewise a matter of 
life and death, for he springs into the air, brings it 
down with one hand, and without stopping for 
applause passes it on a low line to the first baseman. 
The first baseman is familiar with the short bound; 
he makes a neat scoop, then sends it daisy-cutting 
across the diamond to the short stop, who secures 
it on a dead run, jerking it into the hands of the 
third baseman. How quick they are! how eager! 
The one week’s practice has been magical in result. 

“Good gracious!” exclaimed Willie, “but we can 
play ball a little bit.” 

“You’re right,” said Joe as he walked in. “Say, 
Tom, I think we can play ’em any time, now — right 
away.” 

“Not much!” said Tom emphatically. “There’s 
a big thing we’ve got to look out for yet; if we fix 
that we’ll be all right.” 

“What’s that?” was the general query. 

“ We’ve got to get used to their pitcher’s delivery, 
so’s to bat him easy. If we can’t do good batting, 
they’ll beat us badly. Now, I’ll tell you what; I’ve 
got a scheme to bring the thing the way we want it. 
It’s this: I’ll bet any boy here the cakes for the 
14 


210 


TOM PLAYFAIR. 


next two weeks, and the apples too, that I can hold 
his delivery for half an hour.’’ 

The “cakes and apples,” also the “pie,” were 
favorite stakes at St. Maure’s. By these terms was 
understood the daily dessert. 

“I’ll take you,” said Harry, whose twinkling 
eyes gave evidence that he understood Tom’s plan. 
“And I’ll give Keenan half the cakes if I win.” 

“Done,” said Tom, clasping Harry’s hand, and 
holding it till Joe kindly “cut” the bet. “And I’ll 
go halves with George if I win. And what do you 
say, Harry, if these boys here, who have heard us 
make the bet, do the batting to see whether they 
can bluff me?’' 

“I agree to that, too,” answered Harry, with a 
solemn wink. 

All now perceived the ruse and were delighted 
with their parts. No matter who should win the 
bet, it would be a splendid opportunity for studying 
their pitcher, and for getting some practice in batting. 

After supper George Keenan was somewhat as- 
tonished to find himself waited upon by a delega- 
tion of yard-mates. 

“What are you fellows up to?” he exclaimed. 

“Look here, George,” Tom began, “I want you 
to do me a favor. You see I made a bet to-day, 
while these fellows were standing around, that I 
could hold your hottest balls for half an hour. Now 
if you pitch your best and I win, you’ll get my dessert 
for a week ; if I lose, Harry’ 11 give you his for a week.” 

Most model boys, if we can believe the story 
books, are rather indifferent in regard to cakes and 
pie; but George was a model boy on lines of his 
own — he jumped at the offer. 


TOM PLA YFAIR. 


2II 


“Why of course I’ll pitch to you; that’s fun for 
me.” 

“ Thank you,’’ said Tom gratefully. “ And I say, 
George, these boys will bat your pitching so as to 
make it more real.’’ 

“Oh! that’s all right,” answered George, taking 
off his coat, and stepping into the pitcher’s box. 

A referee was then appointed to time the carrying 
out of this novel bet; and the proceedings began. 
For some time Tom contrived to hold George’s 
hottest balls with apparent ease, while the witnesses 
improved their batting abilities. Strange to say, 
however, Tom, at the end of twenty-five minuces, 
began to show signs of weakening; and presently 
called time. Harry had won the bet. 

Tom then protested that he was sure he could 
win the wager some other time; and, as before, 
offered to bet on the result. Forthwith, Will Ruthers 
took him up, and it was agreed that on the following 
day the test should be repeated. 

In a word, Tom, by a variety of devices, succeeded 
in getting his men an opportunjty of studying and 
“solving” George’s curves three or four times each 
week. 

Nor was he satisfied, once they had caught the knack 
of hitting Keenan. He went further; he insisted on 
their batting so as to send it toward third base. 
He had a good reason for this, as the issue will show. 

Thus, giving himself to study and to play with 
equal zest, and never losing sight of the sacred 
Christmas that was approaching, the month passed 
quickly and pleasantly for Tom; and almost before 
he could realize it, the day for the great base-ball 
match was at hand. 


2 I 2 


TOM PLAYFAIR. 


CHAPTER XXIIL 

IN WHICH THE ^^KNICKERBOCKERS" PLAY THE RED 
CLIPPERS." 


H igh Mass on All Saints’ Day had just ended. 

In one corner of the small yard a knot of boys 
had gathered together, and were indulging in a 
hearty laugh. 

“O Jupiter!” Pitch exclaimed, “won’t we do ’em 
up!” 

“They’re pretty cool for little fellows,” remarked 
Harry Jones, the field captain of the Red Clippers. 
He was holding in his hand a note. 

“What’s the fun?” asked George Keenan, who 
had arrived late on the scene. 

“The best joke of the season, George,” said Con- 
way. “Go on; read it to him, Henry.” 

“ Listen to this,” said Henry, with a smile. 


St. Maure’s College, 


Mr. Henry Jones— 


Nov. 1st, 1 8 — . 


Dear Sir: We, the Knickerbocker Club of St. Maure’s Col- 
lege, do hereby challenge the Red Clippers to a game of base- 
ball to be played on the afternoon of All Saints’ Day. 
Respectfully, 

Thomas Playfair, captain and c. 
Henry Quip, p. 

Jos. Whyte, ib. 

Wm. Ruthers, 2b. 

Jas. Aldine, s. s. 

Henry Conly, 3b. 

Henry Underwood, r. f. 

Frank McRoy, c. f. 

Lorenz Lery, 1. f. 


TOM PLAYFAIR. 


213 


But George did not laugh. 

“Those fellows,” he said gravely, “may be little, 
but they are no slouches. As for ourselves, we have 
not played a game the last three weeks, and some 
of you fellows need practice badly.” 

“ Oh, pshaw!” said Pitch, “we need no practice 
for them. I batted against Quip’s pitching last 
year, and I can knock him all over.” 

Despite George’s doubts, the Red Clippers decided 
to play their opponents without preparation. 

Soon after dinner, accordingly, all the small boys 
hurried from the yard to the base-ball field beyond 
the blue grass, where they were presently swelled in 
number by the arrival of the senior students, who, 
having heard of Tom as an “exorcist,” and known 
him as captain of the snow fort, were anxious to 
study his methods in the national game. 

At five minutes to two, Henry Jones sent a five- 
cent piece spinning in the air. 

“ Heads!” said Tom. 

Heads it was, and the captain of the Knicker- 
bockers chose the “outs.” 

“Time! Play!” bawled the umpire, as George 
Keenan stepped up to the bat. 

The ball that came from Harry’s hands seemed to 
be in a great hurry. It fairly crossed the plate, but 
was too high. 

“ One ball.” 

Then came another ball, swift and low. 

“ Two balls.” 

The third ball was tempting, and just where 
George wanted it. But it was one of those deceit- 
fully slow balls, and almost sailed over the plate 
some little time after George struck at it. The 


214 


TOM PLAYFAIR. 


batsman had lunged vigorously, and as the resist- 
ance of the air was mild, he whirled round and was 
within an ace of losing his balance. Before he 
could recover himself, another ball shot by, straight 
and swift. 

“Two strikes,” cried the umpire. 

The crowd laughed; George tried to look easy, 
and Tom stepped up behind the bat. 

George struck at the next ball, but he was too 
slow, and walked away wearing the hollow mask of 
a smile; while the crowd, always in favor of the 
smaller boy, applauded lustily. 

Shane next came to the bat, only to go out on a 
foul, captured on the run by Henry Conly. Pitch 
followed with an easy bounder to the pitcher, and, 
amid lifting of voices and casting of caps, the Red 
Clippers took the field. 

Harry opened the innings for his side by popping 
up an easy fly back of the pitcher, and before reach- 
ing first base, changed his mind and went for a drink 
of water. Tom now advanced to the bat and, after 
two strikes, knocked a sharp grounder to Pitch, who 
was covering short. As the ball went through 
Pitch’s legs, Tom ran to second. Then arose a 
shout of triumph from the crowd, as Joe Whyte 
drove a low liner straight over third, earning second 
for himself and bringing in Tom. Willie Ruthers 
gave variety to this stage of the game by striking 
out. Aldine followed with a high fly toward short. 
Pitch, and Conway, who played third, both ran for 
it; a collision followed, and ball, third baseman, 
and short stop rolled in three several directions. 

“You idiot! What did you do that for?” Pitch 
blurted. 


TOM PLA YFA IP. 215 

“Who? me?” inquired Conway, as he picked him- 
self up and began rubbing his head. 

“Yes, you!” 

“Oh, I thought you were talking to the ball! / 
couldn’t help it. I wouldn’t strike against your 
head for a fortune, if I could help myself.” 

Taking advantage of this altercation, Joe, who 
had stolen third, ran home. The next batter, Harry 
Underwood, knocked a vicious grounder between first 
and second, but John Donnel was there and threw 
him out with ease. 

My base-ball readers must have already perceived 
Tom’s motive in training his men to turn on the 
ball. The weak points of the Red Clippers were 
third and short. 

In the second inning, after a three-bagger by 
Donnel, Conway made a clean hit, and sent John 
home. Presently, Conway saw a good chance to 
steal second ; the baseman was playing far off his 
bag. Just as soon, then, as the pitcher delivered 
his ball, Conway made a bold dash for second and 
thereby fell into one of Tom’s snares. The short- 
stop of the Knickerbockers was there, caught the 
ball from Tom, and touched the runner out. 

In their half of the second inning, Tom’s nine 
covered themselves with honors, and their opponents, 
especially Pitch and Conway, with errors. The 
third and fourth innings brought two runs on each 
side. 

In the fifth. Pitch, who had lost his head, let sev- 
eral slow grounders pass him, while Conway dropped 
a fly and muffed two thrown balls — errors which, 
coupled with two base hits, yielded the Knicker- 
bockers four runs. In the sixth inning, consequently, 


2i6 


TOM PLAYFAIR. 


these two worthies were ordered to take positions in 
the out-field. 

“ If that’s the way you treat a fellow, I won’t 
play,” growled Pitch, putting on his coat. 

“And I want plaster for my head,” added Con- 
way, putting on his. 

“Let’s not play any more to-day,” said Donnel, 
at this juncture. “We’re done up, and we might 
as well give in gracefully, before we begin fighting 
among ourselves.” 

The suggestion was good; the Red Clippers, 
beaten in the field, outwitted at the bat, and jeered 
at by the crowd, were indeed in no condition to 
continue. Jones perceived this, and wisely con- 
cluded to follow Donnel’s advice. 

Thereupon he held a short whispered consultation 
with Tom, apart, and, turning to the scorer, called 
for the score. 

“ Knickerbockers, 7 ; Red Clippers, 3,” roared the 
scorer. 

Tumultuous applause from the sympathetic audi- 
ence, hand-springs and hand-shakes from the vic- 
torious players. 

“Playfair,” said Ryan, the captain of the senior 
club of the college, “ I’ve been here four years, and, 
honestly, I’ve never seen a club better trained than 
yours. You little fellows deserved to win that 
game, you went about it so neatly.” 

Ryan’s words voiced the general opinion. 

Tom’s training had indeed been successful. On 
one occasion during the game, the umpire called 
Will Ruthers out at second when he was manifestly 
safe ; but not by the least word or look did Ruthers 
or any one of his side show dissatisfaction. So it 


TOM PLAYFAIR. 


217 


was during the entire contest, while Jones and Pitch 
and Conway made it disagreeable for the umpire by 
constant quibbling and growling, the Knickerbock- 
ers, to a man, cheerfully accepted his every ruling. 
This is but one point of their training; but it is a 
point which I enlarge upon for the simple reason 
that so few college teams set any importance upon 
it. And yet this point, if attended to, makes base- 
ball a training-school for wondrous self-command, 
and gives the game a dignity well befitting a nation’s 
choice. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 


TROUBLE AHEAD, 



'OM’S improvement was not limited to base-ball. 


1 In class and out, he advanced steadily. Noth- 
ing, perhaps, had so helped him as his choice of 
friends. From among all the boys of the small 
yard, he had selected as his chums Harry Quip, 
Willie Ruthers, Joe Whyte, and James Aldine. 

Harry Quip, mischief-loving though he was, had 
a great amount of practical, common-sense piety. 
No one enjoyed a joke or a laugh more heartily than 
he, but he knew where to draw the line. He was 
easy of disposition; in fact, a superficial knowledge 
of him might bring one to think he was easily led. 
In regard to indifferent matters this was quite true. 
Harry would rather yield than quarrel. But when 
it came to a choice between right and wrong, he 
w’as firm as a rock. . 

One instance will give an idea of Harry’s method 
on such occasions. 


2i8 


TOM PLAYFAIR. 


During the preceding vacation he was thrown in 
with the boys of his neighborhood. 

Shortly after his return from St. Maure’s, he was 
conversing with some of them, when one began nar- 
rating what he considered a very good story indeed. 

Harry saw the drift of it. “I say, boys,” he 
interrupted, “the air is getting too strong for me 
around here. I guess I’ll take a walk.” 

To his gratification, three of the little lads mus- 
tered up courage to leave with him. The joke was 
left unfinished, and whenever Harry Quip joined 
the boys the conversation was entirely proper. 
Indeed, before vacation had ended, the ethical 
standard of his companions had risen by many 
degrees. 

Willie Ruthers and Joe Whyte were bright, pleas- 
ant little lads, reflecting the virtues of their heroes, 
Harry and Tom. 

James Aldine was something more than an ordi- 
narily pious boy. The younger students of St. 
Maure’s College actually revered him, and called 
him the “ saint. ” He was remarkable for gentleness. 
But his gentleness was made of stronger stuff than 
the term usually implies. His meek little ways 
wrought wonders upon Tom and Harry. They 
seemed unconsciously to catch his gentleness, and 
soon joined with him in little devotions that touched 
and refined their lives into spiritual beauty. Tom 
was often overawed by Jimmy’s piety. 

“ Say, Harry,” he remarked one day, “ that Jimmy 
Aldine’s got more praying and piety in his little 
finger than you and I have in our prayer-books and 
whole bodies put together. Did you notice him last 
Sunday after Holy Communion ? His face was as 


TOM PLAYFArR. 


219 


bright as — as — anything, and I watched him till he 
looked like a saint in a picture; and I expected 
every minute that a pretty gold crown would shine 
around his head and a pair of spangled wings would 
crop from his shoulders, and he’d go off sailing up 
to heaven, leaving you and me to fight it out, and 
even then find it hard to behave half decently.” 

Evidently Tom had an imagination. Had he 
been older, he would have put his idea into verse 
and published it. 

One of the first friendly secrets that Tom imparted 
to James Aldine was the story of his deferred First 
Communion. James took as much interest in Tom’s 
preparation as Tom himself ; and on recreation days, 
when they walked out together over the lonely prai- 
ries, he would .speak so lovingly of Our Saviour in the 
Blessed Sacrament, that his companion, like the 
disciples on the road to Emmaus, felt his heart 
burning within him. 

On November the eighth two things came to 
pass, both bearing closely upon the fates and for- 
tunes of our five little lads. 

On that morning a cheering fire lighted up the 
windows of Mr. John Aldine’s home, on the outskirts 
of the village of Merlin. Within, a pleasant-featured 
woman was busily setting the tea-table. Beside the 
fire, a child, who had just emerged from babyhood, 
was critically and dispassionately examining into 
the merits of a picture book. 

A brisk step was heard without, the door opened, 
and a man entered. 

“Papa! papa!” screamed the child, clapping his 
little hands with glee and running toward the 


new-comer. 


220 


TOM PLA YFAIR. 


“Well, little Touzle,” said Mr. Aldine, raising 
the child in his arms and kissing him, “ and how 
are you, Kate?” he continued, affectionately greet- 
ing his wife. “ We must be happy to-night. I have 
succeeded well to-day in my law matters; and, best 
of all, I have a letter from James.” 

“ Hurrah !” cried Touzle, dancing about his papa’s 
legs, to the no small inconvenience of that gentle- 
man, who was trying to divest himself of his great- 
coat, “letter from Dimmy! how’s brudder Dimmy? 
Tell Touzle all about it, papa.” 

Mrs. Aldine, though not so demonstrative as 
Touzle, was no less anxious to hear the contents of 
the letter. 

“Sit down, my dear, by the fire,” she said, “and 
when you feel perfectly cosy, let us all together hear 
what our darling has written.” 

Mr. Aldine, be it observed, never opened the 
letters from his boy but with his wife beside him. 
It was a delicate attention, and a very small thing, 
it may be, but take the small things out of life, and 
we have little left but murders and bank robberies. 

“Well, here goes!” said Mr. Aldine, as he opened 
the envelope and spread out the letter. 

St. Maure’s College, November 4th. 
Mr. and Mrs. John Aldine. 

My Dear Parents: — 

A knock at the door, so sharp, so vicious, as to 
cause Mrs. Aldine to start violently, and Touzle to 
jump with great alacrity from his father’s knee, here 
interrupted the reading. 

“Come in,” said Mr. Aldine. 

Touzle took refuge behind his mother’s skirts, as 


TOM PLAYFA/R. 


221 


a short, dark, ill-featured man, with bristling black 
whiskers, entered the room. For a moment Mr. 
Aldine gazed at the stranger in some perplexity. 

“ It’s Mr. Hartnett, who has called several times 
in your absence to inquire for James,” whispered 
Mrs. Aldine. 

“ Oh, pardon me, Mr. Hartnett,” cried Mr. Aldine, 
advancing and shaking his visitor’s hand. “ I 
ought to know your face by this time. Sit down.” 

“Well,” Mr. Hartnett made answer, as he seated 
himself, “ I can’t blame you for not knowing me, for 
although I have called on you several times I have 
always missed you.” 

“I thank you, sir, for your goodness,” said Mr. 
Aldine, “ and especially for the interest which I 
understand you take in my boy.” 

“Won’t you take tea with us?” asked the wife. 

“Thanks, with pleasure; it’s chilly outside, and 
a cup of tea isn’t such a bad thing in this weather. 
By the way, have you heard from the boy lately ? 
You can’t imagine what an interest I take in him. 
I met him once or twice and am convinced that he’ll 
one day make his mark.” 

“We have just received a letter from him,” said 
Mr. Aldine, highly pleased — as what father would 
not be ? — at these praises of his boy, “ and, perhaps, 
if I read a little of it to you, you may not take it 
amiss.” 

“ My dear sir,” said Hartnett with much warmth, 
“you are too good; I shall be delighted. Touzle, 
you little rogue,” he said to the child, “come here 
and look at my pretty watch.” 

But Touzle, who had thus far persistently clung 
to his mother’s skirts, was not to be tempted from 


222 


TOM PLAYFAIR. 


bel ind his intrenchments. With his great, round 
eyes staring severely on Mr. Hartnett, he neither 
spoke nor moved. It is said that little children 
have an instinctive knowledge of good and bad peo- 
ple. Whether this be true or not, it is certain that 
Touzle had decided views relative to Mr. Hartnett, 
and by no means favorable to that person. 

“ Here’s the way the letter runs, ” said Mr. Aldine : 

My Dear Parents ; — I am so glad to learn that you are 
well, and that dear little Touzle is happy— 

“Hurrah!” cried Touzle in parenthesis. 

— I am very happy here, and like the boys very much. 
Most of them are very good and kind, and only a few are mean. 
I like my prefects very much — my professor is just splendid. I 
think he can teach more in a week than most other teachers in 
a year. And now, my dear parents, I, want to tell you some- 
thing I have long kept secret. 

“Halloa! what is this?” said Mr. Aldine, knitting 
his brows, and reading what followed to himself. 
He did not notice that Mr. Hartnett’s face changed 
color, and that his right hand was quickly thrust 
into his side pocket and remained there. For a 
moment there was silence, an awful silence — had 
the little family but known the thoughts of their 
visitor! 

“ Why, this is strange !” said Mr. Aldine, at length. 
“ He says that he is the only witness of a crime 
which he had sworn never to confess.” 

“ What crime ?” asked Hartnett. 

“He doesn’t say; but promises to tell me about 
it when I come to see him Christmas.” 

Mr. Hartnett’s hand returned from his pocket, and 
with a forced laugh, he said: 


TOM PLAYFAIR, 


223 


‘*Oh, indeed! Perhaps it’ll turn out lu be a reg- 
ular romance.” At the harsh merriment of the vis- 
itor, Mrs. Aldine could not refrain from shuddering. 
Touzle hid himself entirely from view. 

“Well, it’s drawing on late,” resumed Hartnett, 
hastily drinking his tea, “and I’d better be going.” 
Awkwardly enough he took his departure. 

“ Dear John,” said Mrs. Aldine, as the door closed 
upon him, “ I don’t trust that man. Somehow I fear 
he means us no good.” 

“You think so?” said Mr. Aldine, in surprise. 

“I do, indeed.” 

“ He’s a bad^ bad man,” said Touzle, stamping his 
foot. 

“Well, I’ll keep my eyes open; that’s all I can 
do,” said the strong-nerved husband. 

Their suspicions would have been confirmed had 
they seen Hartnett standing a few yards from their 
door, his clinched hands raised in imprecation upon 
their happy home. 

About midnight, Hartnett issued from his lonely 
house, valise in hand, and set off rapidly down the 
public road. He was never again seen in Merlin. 

At St. Maure’s, on this same day, Tom was made 
the happiest boy at college — and that is saying a 
good deal — by receiving from home a bo:t contain- 
ing, among other things, a rubber coat, a pair of 
Ice-King club skates, and a fine breech-loading shot- 
gun for hunting purposes. Luckily it was recreation 
day, and Tom^ having obtained permission of the 
prefect of discipline, joined the customary hunting 
party, of which James Aldine was a member. Under 
his friend’s direction Tom learned very fast. His 
eyes were good, his nerves strong. To his great joy 


224 


TOM PLAYFAIR. 


he brought down a duck on his fourth shot. Tramp- 
ing through the woods and over the prairies, stealing 
cautiously up to game under cover of tree and bush, 
and creeping along the margin of lake and river, 
the day passed quickly indeed; and Tom, with three 
ducks in his hunting pouch, returned to college jubi- 
lant. Before retiring, he had arranged with Harry, 
Willie, James, and Joe to go on an all-day hunt that 
day a week. 


CHAPTER XXV. 

A JOYOUS GOING FORTH, AND A SAD JOURNEY HOME. 

A MID-NOVEMBER morning, cold, blustering, 
gloomy, the day of the great hunt. Shortly 
after breakfast, five little lads scampered to the 
gun-room, and arming themselves according to the 
hunting traditions of St. Maure’s, set out across the 
prairie in the direction of Pawnee Creek. 

“Well, I’m glad it’s cold,’’ Tom remarked as they 
got clear of the college premises. “ A boy enjoys 
walking more in this kind of weather. He doesn’t 
feel like standing around doing nothing.’’ 

“And I’m glad it’s cloudy,’’ said Harry Quip, 
“because we aren’t in any danger of spoiling our 
complexions.’’ 

“ Every kind of weather is good,’’ said James. 
“Yes, even hot weather,’’ remarked Willie Ruth- 
ers. “ Dear me, there’d heaps of folks be drowned 
if it wasn’t for hot weather, because no one would 
ever learn to swim.’’ 

“Yes,” said Harry, his eyes twinkling, “and on 


rOM PLAYFAIR. 


225 


the same principle I reckon there would be heaps of 
folks frozen to death in winter, if there was no cold 
weather, because folks wouldn’t learn how to keep 
themselves warm.” 

Suddenly James Aldine stopped walking. 

“What’s the matter?” asked Tom, who was im- 
mediately behind him. 

“You are, Tom. Do you think I’m going to 
walk in front of your gun, if you hold it with the 
muzzle pointing where my brains are supposed to be ?” 

“Oh, what’s the difference ? It isn’t loaded.” 

“ That’s not certain. And, besides, I object to it 
on principle. My father has often told me never to 
hunt with any one who handles a gun carelessly. 
Here, now, hold it this way, resting on your arm; 
now, should it go off, you may bring down a cloud, 
if your gun carries that far, but you won’t hurt any 
of us.” 

“Pshaw!” growled Tom, as he complied with the 
request, “I thought a fellow who knew as much 
about a gun as you wouldn’t be afraid!” 

“Just the opposite; the more you know about a 
gun, the more respect you’ll have for it. A child, 
if he knows how to use a gun, is the equal of the 
strongest man. It is a dreadful weapon. One little 
load in it may carry death to the bravest.” 

James spoke earnestly; his words made a deep 
impression on Tom. 

At this point the conversation was cut short by 
the appearance of a rabbit, which James despatched 
with a skilful shot. Game was plentiful that day, 
and before noon Tom succeeded in bagging his first 
rabbit, along with a plump quail, while James 
secured three rabbits and several birds. 

15 


226 


TOM PLAYFAIR. 


Thus wandering along the banks of the Pawnee 
in the direction of the river, they stopped shortly 
after midday at the skirts of the woodland which 
sweeps along, perhaps a quarter of a mile in width, 
on either side of the river, and partook of a homely 
but hearty repast. 

The boy who, after being on his feet half the 
day, can sit down to a meal without appetite is not 
worth writing about. Our little party are worth 
writing about, indeed! Cold beefsteak, ham, 
bread, cakes, and apples disappeared with wondrous 
rapidity. 

“ My!” said Tom, “ I wish we’d brought more!” 

All echoed this sentiment. 

“I tell you what; let’s fix up a rabbit,” said 
Harry; “we can build a fire easily, and I’ll cook.” 

The suggestion was favorably received, and in a 
trice James was preparing the rabbit which Tom 
had brought down; Harry was lighting a fire, while 
the others collected sticks and dry leaves. They 
had hardly put themselves to their interesting task, 
when snow began to fall. 

“Hurrah!” cried Harry, jumping to his feet, and 
dancing about the fire, “we’ll have a snow fort in 
the yard to-morrow.” 

“Hurrah!” shouted the others, and all began 
dancing about the fire. There is an inexpressible 
charm in the first snowfall of the year, which glori- 
fies a boy; every tiny little messenger falling radi- 
ant, white-robed from the skies seems to whisper a 
tale of glee to his responsive heart. Round and 
round the fire the lads danced, faster and faster, 
while thicker and larger fell the flakes. Their 
dancing might have been prolonged indefinitely. 


TOM PLAYFAIR. 


227 


had not the embers given warning that more fuel 
was needed. 

“ Hold on, boys!” cried Tom, who had just failed 
in an attempt to execute a hand-spring, “ we want 
more wood, Jimmy; get your rabbit ready quick,” 
and off they danced in different directions. 

By the time the rabbit was cooked, the ground 
was hidden from view. 

“We’ll have plenty of fun going home,” remarked 
James, as they again fell to. 

“How’s that?” asked Joe. 

“Why, we can track rabbits over the snow.” 

“Hurrah for King Winter!” shouted Tom with 
fresh exhilaration. 

“ I wonder when we’ll have another meal as jolly 
as this?” queried Harry. 

“Who knows?” This from James Aldine. 

“I say,” said Tom, who was too healthy a lad to 
indulge in conjecture, “I’d rather be here eating 
this old rabbit, with the snow getting into my ears, 
than at a turkey and ice-cream dinner in the most 
stylish house.” 

No one seemed inclined to gainsay this statement; 
and a few minutes later, having done full justice to 
their fare, they resumed their hunt, each one peering 
in every direction to discover rabbit tracks. 

As they pushed along, Tom noticed that James, 
who was lightly clad, shivered occasionally. 

“Say, Jim, aren’t you cold? Here, take my coat, 
I’m too warm for any use.” 

“No, no!” remonstrated James; “I’m used to 
being out in the cold.” 

But Tom whipped off his garment before James 
had fairly entered his protest, and with his grandest 


22i 


TOM PLAYFAIR. 


air of authority made his friend put it on. Then, 
clad in his sailor jacket and knickerbockers, the 
sturdy young Samaritan trotted on as comfortable 
in his light attire as though he were in the heats 
of mid-summer. Genuine kindness is warmer than 
any coat. 

They were about two miles to the northwest of 
the college (two and one-half from the village of St. 
Maure beyond) when to their great joy they came 
upon the long-looked-for tracks. On they ran with 
new energy, but coming to the road, over which 
many vehicles must have passed, they were brought 
to a sudden halt. The prints had become confused 
with the impress of wheels and horses’ hoofs. 

It may be observed, that the road lay between the 
woods skirting the river and a long strip of land 
known as the valley, which, stretching on either 
side of the railroad track, changed gradually into 
the wild, rolling prairie. 

Tom was for following the road, Harry for mov- 
ing through the valley on toward the prairie, while 
James favored taking to the woods. By way of 
compromise, they agreed to scatter, each following 
his own plan. 

So Tom, followed by Willie and Joe, trotted along 
briskly some ten or fifteen minutes, when Joe, out 
of breath, begged him to slacken his pace. Tom 
paused, and suddenly, from right beneath his feet, 
a rabbit which had been concealed in the brushwood 
scampered forth. 

Bang! went his gun; the rabbit fell dead. 

“Ain’t I getting to be a great hunter!” roared 
Tom in undisguised admiration at himself. “Wait 
one moment, boys, till I load up again Here goes 


TOM PLAYFAIR. 


229 


for a deadner!” and he inserted his loaded shell. 
“There’s five fingers of buck-shot in that, — enough 
to kill six rabbits standing in a row.” 

“ I say, Tom,” said Willie, “ it’s getting dark!” 

“So it is,” assented Tom, taking out his watch. 
“Why, halloa! it’s near four o’clock. We’d better 
get ready to start for the college, or we’ll come late 
for supper and get fifty lines each from Mr. Middle- 
ton. Come on, we must find the other boys.” 

Vigorous shouting soon brought Harry to their 
side, but shout as they might, James Aldine gave 
no sign of being within ear-shot. Some minutes 
passed, — darkness was coming on apace. Joe Whyte 
began to betray signs of nervousness, and Willie 
Ruthers caught the feeling. Suddenly — it was an 
accidental circumstance, but none the less awkward 
— all ceased shouting, and the hush of the evening 
seemed to take grim possession of each. Tom was 
the first to break the silence. 

“ Well, I suppose we’d better take a trot into the 
woods,” he observed. 

“Isn’t it gloomy and silent under these trees?” 
said Joe, as they picked their way among the trees. 

“ Isn’t it, though !” said Willie. “ I feel as though 
I had the nightmare.” 

As they plunged into the woods they became more 
and more solemn; their shoutings had ceased en- 
tirely, and, indeed, they hardly spoke above a 
whisper. The gloom and grim silence of the white- 
armed trees had exercised a spell upon them. Sud- 
denly they heard a sound that made their blood run 
cold ; it was a groan. 

“Good God!” whispered Tom, crossing himself, 
“but that sounded like Jimmy’s voice. Come on. 


230 


TOM PLAVFAIT. 


boys softly. Don’t step on any twigs, but pick 
your steps. I’m afraid Jimmy’s in danger, and I 
have reasons you don’t know of;” and Tom, as he 
moved forward, followed tremblingly by the others, 
held his gun at full cock. 

Another groan was heard. Tom’s face became 
pale as death, but his whole expression was none 
the less determined. Bending low, and partially 
protected from view by the bushes, they moved on 
till Tom paused, his face alive with horror, stag- 
gered, but recovered himself and raised his hand to 
the others in warning. 

Judge of their terror, as, in obedience to Tom’s 
gesture, they ranged themselves beside him and 
gazed on the sight that had so stricken him. 

In a pool of blood, its bright red color contrasting 
so frightfully with the white snow, lay James Aldine. 
Above him, a stained dagger in his hand, stooped a 
man, — dark, sullen, villanous, with the unholy light 
of murder in his sinister eyes. He seemed to be 
examining the poor child’s features, as though to 
make sure that he was dead. 

As Tommy gazed, his expression changed from 
horror to determination. Making a slight gesture 
to his companions to remain quiet, he drew up his 
gun and covered the stranger. Then, advancing 
stealthily to within a few feet of the villain, who 
was facing in the opposite direction, he said in a 
clear, ringing voice: 

“ Drop that knife, or I fire!” 

So sudden came the shock upon the stranger, that, 
as he turned, his nerveless fingers let the dagger fall 
to the earth, while his face assumed a look of the 
most extreme terror. 


TOM PLAYFAIR. 


231 


“ Raise your hands above your head, at once, or 
I fire,” continued Tom, in the same inflexible tones. 
The gun, pointed direct at the man’s breast, was 
as steady in the child’s hands as though it were held 
by a statue. 

The determined face of the boy utterly cowed the 
man. Up went his hands without delay. 

“ Now, sir, take that path right behind you and 
go straight on at a steady walk till you come to the 
road leading to St. Maure’s; and I give you my 
word that if you attempt to move from the path, 
put down your hands, or turn around, I will shoot 
you at once. I know you, Mr. Hartnett [at the 
name the man’s face put on new terror], and I know 
that this is not your first murder. Now, turn round 
and walk straight on.” 

“Take down that gun,” chattered Hartnett; “it 
might go off accidentally.” 

“ It will go off if you don’t do what I tell you.” 

Completely mastered, the man turned and moved 
forward, keeping Tom’s directions to the letter. 
Boy though his captor was, Hartnett perceived that 
he was dealing with a man, as far as determination 
went, and a very determined man at that. 

As Tom, preceded by his captive, moved toward 
the village, Harry, Willie, and Joe raised James 
from the ground, wrapped him in their coats, and 
tenderly bore him toward the college. 

It were vain to attempt portraying adequately the 
state of Tom’s mind as he tramped steadily on after 
the murderer. His imagination never wandered; 
his whole being was fused into the determination to 
bring that man to justice. The road was lonely 
and deserted; not a sound smote the stillness; the 


232 


TOM PLAYFAIR, 


minutes passed on into the quarters, but the steady 
tread of captor and captive beat equal and silent 
upon the yielding snow; the heavy gun covered its 
object as though supported by muscles of steel; 
sensation, fear, hope, — all were kept in abeyance to 
Tom’s present purpose. The blinding snow dimmed 
not his eyes, the cold stiffened not a limb. Whether 
it was a minute, an hour, or a day that the stern 
tramp lasted, Tom could never have told. His 
senses, concentrated to a single purpose, were dead 
to all else till the village was reached, and crowds 
of men came thronging around him and his prisoner. 

Then speech and his normal activities returned. 

“Arrest this man,” he said; “he is a murderer!” 

Strong hands were laid upon Hartnett; Tom’s 
gun slipped from his grasp, a mist swam before his 
eyes. 

“My brave boy,” said a gentleman, catching his 
hand, “ you must be cold, and worn out too. Let 
me put my coat about you.” 

“Thank you, sir,” said Tom. 

Then he staggered, blood issued from mouth and 
nose, and he fell into the gentleman’s arms senseless. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

SICKNESS. 

D r. MULLAN’S face was graver than usual ashO 
issued that evening from the college infirmary 
in the company of the reverend President. 

“Both are critical cases. Father, and, indeed, I 
have more fears for that brave little Playfair than 


TOM PLAYFAIR. 


233 


for the other. Aldine’s wounds are not necessarily 
fatal; a good constitution will probably bring him 
through. But the little hero is in danger of some- 
thing worse than death. The strain upon his mind, 
the force of his emotions, the terrible ordeal to 
which his most remarkable will-power has subjected 
him, have thrown him into a high fever. He may 
recover, but, even then, his mind may be impaired 
or his nerves shattered for life.” 

“God forbid!” said the President. “Do you con- 
sider it advisable to write for the relatives of 
either?” 

“Well, it would be no harm to send for Aldine’s 
people; but as for Playfair, there’s time enough. 
We had better wait till we see how his case turns.” 

Both little sufferers were in a private room, re- 
moved from the common ward of the infirmary. 
James Aldine, weak, pale, hardly conscious, was 
lying on his uninjured side, — now and then giving 
forth a feeble moan of pain. In another part of the 
room lay Tom, his cheeks flushed with f^ver, his 
eyes bright and wild. Harry sat beside him and 
occasionally bathed his forehead. Whenever the 
infirmarian approached, Tom would shiver with 
horror, and would beg Harry, whom he called by 
the name of some former acquaintance, to take that 
man away, for he was a murderer, there was blood 
upon his hands, — could they not see the blood? — 
there was murder in his every look. 

About seven o’clock in the evening, when the 
college boys had been safely housed in their respect- 
ive study-rooms, Mr. Middleton, Tom’s teacher, 
prefect, and dear friend, entered the room, and, 
strangely enough, Tom recognized him at once. 


234 


TOM PLAYFAIR. 


“Oh, Mr. Middleton,” he cried, “will you help 
me ?” 

“ Certainly, my dear boy,” said the prefect, grasp- 
ing the fevered hands entreatingly extended to him, 
“ what can I do for'you?” 

“Come close to me,” said Tom, “I don’t want 
them to hear it. See them all watching me,” he 
cried, pointing around the room. “ They are all in 
the crime. Stoop down, Mr. Middleton, I want to 
whisper to you.” 

The prefect bent low. 

“They want to kill Jimmy, and they’ve poisoned 
me, so’s I can’t help him; but you’ll take my place, 
won’t you ?” 

“Yes, yes. Tommy; rely upon it, no one shall 
touch a hair of his head.” 

“And, Mr. Middleton, I’m going to make my 
First Communion to-morrow. It’s Christmas, you 
know, and I’ve waited — oh, so long!” 

“Not to-morrow, Tom.” 

The fevered patient took no notice of this answer. 

“Where is Jimmy now?” asked Tom, presently. 

“ There he is lying on that bed,” 

Tom raised himself and looked in the direction 
indicated. Then a strange, perplexed expression 
came upon him, as though the true ideas of what 
had so lately happened were striving vainly to 
square with the wild vagaries of his fever. Ex- 
hausted by the mental conflict, he fell back and, 
still holding tightly the prefect’s hand, closed his 
eyes. 

Toward nine o’clock that night, as Willie Ruthers 
was sitting beside the other sufferer, James recovered 
from his stupor. 


TOM PLAYFAIR. 235 

“Willie,” he said, “how did Tommy come to be 
sick ?” 

Willie told him the story of Tom’s heroism, and 
of the high fever which the exposure and mental 
strain had brought on him. The listener’s eyes 
filled with tears of gratitude to his brave companion, 
but on hearing of Tom’s great danger, his face grew 
troubled. 

“Tom is a real hero,” he said, “and I shall pray 
for him night and day, that he may get well.” 

Next morning all the students were unusually 
subdued. Gathered together in knots, Tom’s brav- 
ery was the subject of universal panegyric; while 
all, even the most flighty, were concerned at his 
danger. 

At all times, Harry, Willie, and Joe were at the 
side of their friends. Nothing could exceed their 
devotedness. Ever and anon Aldine’s face quiv- 
ered with pain, but there constantly dwelt upon 
it a gentle expression of resignation. The doctor 
was satisfied with his symptoms. Tom’s case seemed 
to trouble him more. 

Toward evening of the second day after the 
hunting expedition, a lady entered and, kneeling 
beside James, covered his face with kisses. 

“Don’t be troubled, mamma,” said James, hold- 
ing her hand tenderly, “ I am not suffering much ; 
indeed I am not. Tom is in danger, and you must 
pray for him.” 

Mrs. Aldine, who had heard the whole story, 
presently went over to Tom. The poor child, who 
had been tossing restlessly all day, started up om 
seeing her, his face softened with joy. 

“Oh, mamma,” he cried, “why didn’t you come 


236 


TOM PLAYFAIR. 


to me before? Come to me, mamma, and stay with 
me always. ” He tenderly embraced Mrs. Aldine — 
his mother, poor child, was in heaven. “Mamma,” 
he continued, “there’s something I’m so anxious 
to tell you. I’m to make my First Communion 
Christmas, and you must pray for me that I do it 
well. I used to be very wild at home, but I think 
that I am not quite as I used to be. I’ve worked 
hard to change, and it is partly on your account, 
mamma. I know that you’ve been praying for me 
ever since you went to heaven; and I remember 
what you said to me just before you died. They 
want to poison me before I can make it. But poison 
doesn’t hurt me. I’m used to it now. I’m glad 
I’m sick. You can’t fool me; I know I’m sick; 
and it’s just as easy to keep from sin if you’re in 
bed as it is anywhere else. Easier; I’d commit 
murder, maybe, if I were out. I’d shoot — shoot — 
shoot — ” and Tom ended this strange monologue 
with jumping up into a sitting posture and clinching 
his hands, while his eyes flashed in fury. 

About sundown he changed for the worse. He 
shrieked and cried, and could hardly be held down 
in his bed. Toward midnight the doctor was sum- 
moned. 

“If his delirium lasts above twenty-four hours, 
his case, I fear, is hopeless.” 

On hearing this, James called Willie, Joe, and 
Harry to his bedside. 

“ Boys, I want you to join me in prayer,” he said. 
“ I have made God a promise if He cures Tom. It 
may not be His holy will to cure him; but let us 
unite in prayer.” 

Led by James, the boys, in low, fervent tones, 


TOM PLAYFAIR. 


237 


recited decade after decade to the Blessed Mother; 
while Tom, hanging between life and death, was 
soothed and restrained in his paroxysms by the kind 
hands of Mrs. Aldine and Mr. Middleton. 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

DEA TH. 

I T was ten o’clock of the following day. Tom’s 
raving had gradually lessened. As the hours 
wore on he became quiet, till at length, for the first 
time since the eventful Thursday, he fell asleep. 

“His life is saved,’’ said the doctor; “but the 
danger to his mind is not yet over. All now lies in 
the hands of God.’’ 

“So much the more reason for our praying,” said 
James. “Come on, boys,” he continued, addressing 
his three friends, “ let us take heaven by storm!’ 

Morning waned into afternoon, afternoon shaded 
into night, and still Tom slumbered. Standing 
about his bed, Mr. Middleton, Mrs. Aldine, and the 
three boys anxiously watched the face of the sleeper. 

A little after eight in the evening Tom’s breath- 
ing changed. He opened his eyes. All stood with 
bated breath, awaiting his first words. 

After gazing about vacantly for some seconds, he 
stretched out his arms, gave a low sigh, and said, 
“Good gracious! I’m all broken up!” 

There was a smile upon every face; the tone was 
so natural, so like Tom. 

“ Tom, old boy, don’t you know me ?’’ cried Harry, 
unable to restrain himself. 

“I rather think I do. Why shouldn’t I? But 


.238 


TOM PLAYFAIR. 


what’s the matter with you all ? I’m not a museum, 
ami? You’re all staring at me so! And where in 
the world am I, and what’s the matter with my 
head? It feels as light as a balloon!” 

“Do you know, Tommy,” said Mr. Middleton, 
“that you’ve been sick for several days? Very 
sick, indeed?” 

“ Let me think,” said Tom, passing his hand over 
his brow. “We were out hunting, and when we 
came to the place where poor Jimmy was stabbed — 
we — we — what did we do, anyhow? Did I fall 
down ? And did that man try to murder me ? And 
what’s become of Jimmy?” 

“Here I am, Tom,” cried James, who was sitting 
up in his bed and literally brimming over with joy. 
“I’m all right, and so are you. You brought that 
murderer to jail. Don’t you remember?” 

“What — what did I do?” Tom inquired. 

“ Listen,” said Harry, and with no little astonish- 
ment Tom heard his famous adventure narrated. 

“Well, well, dear me!” he said at the conclusion, 
“ it may be all true, but there’s one little question 
I’d like to ask.” 

“Ask away,” said Harry cheerfully. 

“Well, I’d like to know if I was there when I did 
all that?” 

All laughed at the serio-comic way in which Tom 
put this query. In truth, his question, under, the 
circumstances, was not extraordinary; nor is Tom 
the only one who has been puzzled by the mystery 
of his own identity. 

“Tom,” said Mrs. Aldine, when the invalid had 
heard a full account of his recent doings, “ don’t 
you know me?” 


TOM PLAYFAIR. 


239 


“No, ma’am,” he answered, with a blush, as he 
encountered the sweet eyes of a refined lady fixed 
upon his. 

“While you were sick, you took me for your 
mamma; and, indeed, if the love and gratitude of 
one who has not the sacred name of mother can 
supply her place, I shall do it. I am the mother of 
James Aldine, whom you so bravely rescued.” And 
stooping down, Mrs. Aldine tenderly kissed the little 
boy, as though, indeed, she were his mother. 

To say that Joe, Harry, and Willie were happy, is 
the mildest possible way of expressing their senti- 
ments; they were beside themselves. Their joy 
was threatening to develop into uproariousness, 
when the infirmarian very wisely ordered them to 
their respective dormitories. 

From that night Tom’s improvement was rapid. 
He soon outstripped James in the race for health. 
While Tom bustled in and out of the infirmary, 
James kept his bed, his wound healing, but his 
cheeks growing thinner and paler day by day. 

“I say, Jimmy,” said Tom, about one week from 
the date of the crisis, “ why don’t you eat a decent 
meal ?” 

“I’m not hungry, Tom.” 

“That’s no way to do; eat, anyhow ; you’re get- 
ting thinner all the time.” 

“I know it, Tom; and, what is more, I believe I 
shall never be well again.” 

“ Nonsense! Humbug!” said Tom sturdily, though 
his cheek blanched as he spoke. 

“I do believe it, Tom, and I have reason. The 
doctor of late looks troubled. He complains that 
the wound isn’t healing fast enough. And mamma 


240 


TOM PLA YFAIR. 


knows that I am in danger; for her face grows very 
sad when she thinks I am not looking at her; and 
once, after she had spoken with the doctor, I saw 
her cry. But don’t think, Tom, that I am anxious 
to live; I had rather die, for I am ready. Should I 
live, dear Tom, the day might come when I should 
fall into some mortal sin. So far God has been so 
good to me; He has given me a holy, pious mother, 
and very dear, good friends,” he pressed Tom’s hand 
as he said this, ‘‘and, by His grace, has kept me 
out of all dangerous occasions. So I am happy at 
the thought of dying now.” 

“Well, Jim,” said Tom, with the tears starting to' 
his eyes, “ I know you are ready, and I do wish I 
was as good as you. You’ve got the makings of an 
angel, but you mustn’t die; I should lose my dearest 
friend.” 

“No, no; indeed you won’t,” answered James 
earnestly. “ Please God, I shall be your friend in 
another world. I would be of little use here; but 
there I am sure I could help you far better. And, 
Tom, I am not sorry to die, for another reason. I 
don’t think I could ever be happy here below. 

I fret about things so easily. The least thing wor- 
ries me.” 

“Yes, that’s so,” admitted Tom; “you do fret 
about things. I’m not that way myself.” 

Toward evening Mr. Aldine, who had been East 
on business, arrived at the college, bringing with 
him Touzle. 

Touzle entered the sick-room dancing with joy, 
but on seeing his brother so pale and thin he 
sobered very much. 

“Poor Dimmy is sick,” said the child, running 


TOM PLAYFAIR. 


241 


his fingers through James’s hair. “Where’s the 
wed on your cheeks, Dimmy ?” 

“Somebody whitewashed me,’’ was the answer; 
but Touzle was not convinced. 

In December James was so weak that he was 
unable to leave his bed. Tom had been about his 
class duties for several weeks, but whenever he was 
free he spent his time at the sufferer’s side. As the 
boy drew nearer the grave, his spirit seemed to draw 
closer to God. At times the light of sanctity flick- 
ered upon his face — such a light as nothing but 
exquisite purity and exalted holiness can enkindle. 

Nor was Tom idle. Christmas was to be the day 
of his First Communion. With all his resolute will 
he applied himself to prepare for this august moment. 
Many an hour would he spend with James, speaking 
of the dearest of all miracles, the miracle of Our 
Saviour’s ineffable love. At night, too, he would 
kneel long by his bed praying for love and grace; 
and the boys began to remark that instead of the 
dying saint Tom had arisen in his stead. 

It was the eve of the great day. Just before 
retiring for the night Tom repaired to the infirmary 
to pay a last visit to his friend. The wan face of 
James almost glowed with joy at his approach. 

“Oh, Tom, I’m so glad to see you,’’ he said, “for 
I want to tell you the news. To-morrow, Tom, as 
you go to Holy Communion for the first time, I 
shall be receiving the last sacraments of the Church. ’’ 

Tom was not dismayed; he had long expected 
this news. 

“That is good,” he said; “and I shall offer up 
all my communion for you.” 

“Thank you, Tom; you are too good. But I 
16 


242 


TOM PLA YFAIR. 


wish now to tell you something else. Do you know 
why I expected to die from so long ago?” 

“Why?” asked Tom. 

“ Because when you were so sick I prayed and 
prayed, night and day, that, if it might be, God 
should take my life and spare yours. I knew you 
would be of some use in the world, Tom, but I 
would do little. So, Tom, you must try to do your 
work, and mine too; and that, you know, is little 
enough.” 

Tom was weeping. 

“I am very glad to die,” pursued James. “At 
first, when I prayed to God, I was a little afraid of 
being heard; for I had hoped, Tom, to live long 
enough to be a priest, and to touch with my poor 
hands Our Saviour Himself. I intended to give my 
life to God; but God has come to take it before 
I can give it.” 

Tom was still weeping. 

“Mamma,” said James, as his mother came up 
and laid her head beside her darling boy’s cheek, 
“ I know you do not refuse to give me up to God.” 

“ No, my darling; if I loved you a thousand times 
more. He should have you.” 

“I’m so glad, mamma; to-morrow will be Christ- 
mas. Wouldn’t it be nice were I to die then ? Then 
you would give me to God on the very day God 
gave Himself to you.” 

Tom was returning from the communion table, 
his heart beating in unison with the heart of his 
sweet Master, his radiant soul in the life-giving 
embraces of her Spouse. How the minutes flew, as 
he knelt in earnest commune with his loving Jesus! 


TOM PLAYFAIR, 


243 


He was a saint that morning — one of those little 
children whose souls are the glory of the Sacred 
Heart. How long, how fervent, had been his prepa- 
ration! But Tom now thanked God for the delay. 
His soul had been purified by trial. And now that 
the probation was over, Tom felt that he had been 
in God’s hands. It was truly his day of days. 

Thanksgiving over, he hastened to the infirmary. 
As he entered the room, Mrs. Aldine’s sobs broke 
upon his ear. He hastened to the bedside, but the 
gracious eye of welcome was closed forever. A 
sweet expression, ineffably sweet, lingered upon the 
child’s face, as though the body itself had, for one 
last moment, shared in the happiness of the liberated 
spirit. 

“My God,” murmured Tom from the fulness of 
his heart, as he threw himself on his knees beside 
the body, “Jimmy offered himself for me. Let me 
take his place in life. If it be your will, my God, 
I from this day give myself entirely to your work.” 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

AN ESCAPE FROM JAIL, AND THE BEGINNING OF A SNOW- 
STORM. 

TILL Christmas morning! In a narrow room. 



O lighted by one close-barred window, was Hart- 
nett, worn no less by confinement than by anxiety. 
His face had grown darker, his fierce eyes had be- 
come bloodshot; while his beard, nails, and hair, 
long neglected, imparted to his appearance an in- 
crease of loathsomeness. 


244 


TOM PLAYFAIR. 


Like a caged tiger, he was fiercely, doggedly 
pacing up and down the room. Occasionally he 
would pause to catch the interchange of greetings 
from the passers-by without. They were merry 
words; words beautiful in themselves, but colored 
into beauty more gracious than the dawn by the 
infinite Peace and Love that gave them birth; words 
that brought back again that undying song of the 
angels, that song of gladness, which, ringing down 
the ages, will move the glad echoes of the human 
heart till this world shall have passed away. “ Merry 
Christmas! Merry Christmas!” The words few, the 
meaning simple. Yet, link them with the glad 
smile, the bright eye, the look of love, the warm 
pressure of the hand, — and what a wealth of meaning 
there is in the expression! It is the full-hearted 
utterance of human sympathy, kindness and love, 
raised into priceless value by the benediction of 
Bethlehem’s Babe. But upon the prisoner’s heart, 
long since attuned to the chords of anger and hatred, 
these words grated harshly. Muttering maledictions 
upon the authors of these cheery greetings, he re- 
sumed his weary tramp, — not blessed on this thrice- 
blessed day by so small a gift as one kind thought. 
By and by, a key from without rattled in the lock, 
the door swung open, and the marshal entered the 
room. 

“Well, Hartnett,” said the marshal, “your game’s 
about up.” 

“What’s happened now?” 

“The boy you stabbed died this morning. So 
to-morrow you’re to be removed to the jail at the 
county-seat, if you’re not lynched before you get 
there.” 


TOM PLAYFAIR. 


245 


The prisoner wiped his brow with his sleeve, his 
breathing grew short, and an expression of abject 
fear started upon his face. 

“ What do the people say about me ?” he gasped. 

“There’s not much said; they’re rather quiet. 
But their way of looking makes me reckon that you 
won’t get out of this jail more’n six foot before 
you’re in the hands of a mighty mad crowd. But I 
guess we’ll come a game on them. We’ll take you 
off to-morrow before daylight, before folks know 
what’s what.” 

“ When are you coming for me ?” 

“ Oh, about four in the morning. Anything I can 
do for you ?” 

“ No; I’ll be ready when you come.” 

“Ain’t you sorry that boy died?” 

No answer from Hartnett. 

“Won’t you feel nervous-like to-night, with that 
boy’s face before you in the dark?” 

“See here, now,” said the murderer, “don’t try 
that on me. You needn’t try to get me frightened. 
The boy is dead, and that’s an end of it.” 

The prisoner spoke with vehemence. 

“Well, I can’t wish you a merry Christmas, but I 
do wish that you may come to realize what an awful 
thing you have — ” 

“Go away! Get out! Leave me!” shrieked 
Hartnett, his bloodshot eyes growing hideous with 
rage, and his fingers working in impotent passion. 

“One moment,” said the marshal, producing a 
pair of handcuffs; “here’s a pair of bracelets you 
might as well try on.” 

“ Now ?” exclaimed Hartnett, aghast. 

“Why not?” 


246 


TOM PLAYFAIR. 


“Can’t you wait till to-morrow?” he exclaimed, 
drawing back. 

“Come on; now’s the time!” 

“ Marshal, I haven’t asked you many favors since 
I’ve been here. Please let me go free till we start 
to-morrow; it’s an ugly matter to have those affairs 
on, and I’d like to put it off as long as possible.” 

“Let’s see,” said the official dubiously. 

“Why, I can’t escape, man. Look at these bare 
stone walls — four ugly walls and a wretched, barred 
window ; and that dismal low roof that I can almost 
touch with my hand.” 

“Well, all right,” said the marshal; “but remem- 
ber, on they go the first thing in the morning. I’ll 
leave them here for you to admire. ” And, carelessly 
tossing the handcuffs on the prisoner’s bed, the 
marshal locked himself out. Had he seen the lurk- 
ing smile of triumph on Hartnett’s face, he might 
have reconsidered his favor. 

Hartnett listened intently till the retreating foot- 
steps had become inaudible; then, going to his bed, 
he turned up the mattress, and inserting his hand 
into a small opening, drew forth a slender, steel, 
saw-like instrument. After pausing to assure him- 
self that no one was near, he climbed up one of the 
stone walls of the prison, by means of hardly per- 
ceptible holes made for his feet, till his hands could 
reach the wooden roof. His first act was to jerk 
from the ceiling three strips of black cloth, which, 
on being removed, discovered three long, narrow 
chinks, plain in the sunshine, and needing only a 
fourth chink to make a hole abundantly large enough 
for his escape. The work already done had cost 
him days and nights of patient labor, his instrument 


TOM PLA YFAIR. 


247 


being small and, in appearance, unsuited for the 
purpose. He put himself to work now with re- 
doubled energy. Presently the beginning of the 
fourth narrow slit appeared. Half an hour passed ; 
hardly a quarter of an inch was done, and two feet 
to be cut before three o’clock of the next morning. 
Hartnett grew nervous at the thought, and pushed 
his makeshift saw up and down with all his strength. 
Suddenly there was a sharp snap — his instrument 
had broken. In the agony of the moment Hartnett 
forgot himself, lost his hold, and fell heavily to the 
floor, where, with a smothered curse still lingering 
on his lips, he lay for some minutes stunned and 
helpless. But the sound of footsteps without soon 
brought him to his feet; and with an agility won- 
derful under the circumstances, he again clambered 
up the wall, deftly covered the betraying chinks 
with cloth, then lightly dropped to the floor. 

For the rest of the day he passed his time brood- 
ing and sullen, now traversing his cell with hasty, 
impatient strides, now tossing restlessly upon his 
couch. Darkness at length came; the sounds of the 
day died away. Toward midnight, perfect quiet 
reigned. Hartnett’s time had come. With the 
handcuffs in one hand he again mounted, with all 
his strength beat them against the part he had par- 
tially cut away. One, two, three heavy blows and 
the wood yielded a little. Another strong blow, 
and another ; and his escape was secured. A moment 
later, he had gained the roof, leaped to the ground, 
— then skulked through the village, across the rail- 
road track, out into the great undulating, deserted 
prairie beyond. 

Whither he was going he knew not. But, strange 


248 


TOM PLAYFAIR. 


as it may seem, no sooner was he free of his prison 
walls than an overpowering sense of terror came 
upon him. Did he seek the lonely prairie of his 
own choice ? That was a question he could not have 
answered himself. He seemed to be fleeing from 
some pursuing evil. It might have been the bitter 
wind of the chilling night; but there seemed to ring 
in his ear a dying groan; there seemed to dance 
before him a knife, dripping with blood; and the 
wild angry jargon of many voices haunted him as 
though a horde of demons were at his heels. The 
very sky was dark and threatening; and strange, 
weird shapes, clad in the sable vesture of the dead, 
sprang up at every step before his startled eyes. 
Hour after hour passed away, and still he pushed 
wildly, madly on, his face quivering with fear and 
horror. With the first streak of dawn his strength, 
thus far supported by terror, deserted him; and 
coming upon a lone tree standing amid the vast sol- 
itude of the prairie, he threw himself beneath its 
shelter, and losing his night’s terror in the splendor 
of the dawn, fell into a deep sleep. 

Let us turn from this wretch to the side of the 
dead child. His delicate, fragile hands clasped upon 
his bosom and intertwined with the beads he had so 
loved in life, his face calm and serene and telling a 
tale of beatitude immortal, he lay in his white coffin, 
surrounded by father, mother, and little playmates, 
subdued into unwonted gentleness as they entered 
the chamber where death had dealt his kindliest 
stroke. It was the morning after Christmas, and 
James, it had been decided, was then to be buried. 

“Not,” said Mrs. Aldine, “that I am tired of 
gazing upon the dear face of my angel boy, but 


TOM PLA YFAIR. 249 

because death in a house where so many boys are 
together would keep them in a sadness not suited to 
the time.” 

Mr. Middleton, who had been James Aldine’s 
teacher, spoke a few last words. 

He told the students of the child Jesus; of His 
hidden youth, and of His love for little children. 
Then he narrated, almost in the beautiful language 
of the Gospel, the story of how Jesus, when He was 
asked by the apostles who was the greatest in the 
kingdom of heaven, took a child and set him in 
their midst. “ And,” he continued, “ when I consider 
the little I have seen of our departed brother’s life, 
when I recall how earnestly, how devoutly, he sought 
to love and imitate the Sacred Heart of Jesus, it 
seems to me that such a one as this must our Divine 
Lord have chosen to stand in the midst of His 
apostles.” 

Slowly and solemnly the students, in ordered ranks, 
devoutly reciting the rosary as they moved, walked 
from the college toward the graveyard, which lay 
a mile or so out upon the prairie. As they neared 
the newly-made grave, snow began to fall in large 
flakes. Before the burial services had concluded 
the. storm became blinding in its intensity. Mr. 
Morton, the prefect of the large boys, was alarmed. 

“Boys,” he said in a loud voice, as the grave- 
diggers were completing their task, and the students 
were about to start for the college, “ I warn you, on 
peril of your lives, not to disperse on the road back. 
This promises to be a terrible snow-storm, and were 
you to lose your way, death on the prairie might be 
the result. Form into ranks as before and I will 
put two boys who know the prairie best at the head.” 


250 


TOM PLAYFAIR. 


It was very happy of the prefect to have taken 
this decisive measure. At first some of the youthful 
wiseacres grumbled, but when, with difficulty, all 
had arrived safely at the college, it was generally 
acknowledged that any other course might have led 
to the loss of life. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 


END OF THE SNOW-STORM. 



HEN Hartnett awoke he found himself covered 


VV with snow, and, hastily rubbing his eyes, dis- 
covered with dismay that he was alone on the track- 
less prairie in the face of the fiercest and most 
blinding snow-storm that had ever come under his 
experience. Starting to his feet, he pushed vigor- 
ously ahead. But whither was he going? He could 
not tell; mortal eye, were it ever so strong and 
steady, could not have pierced the snow-veil which 
stretched from earth to sky. Yet he must go on. 
To stand in such a storm were to perish. As he 
started out upon this enforced tramp, the snow was 
already ankle-deep; after an hour’s weary walking 
it had deepened several inches. But it was a tramp 
against death, and as the echo of the last night’s 
horrid voices rang in his memory, he pushed on as 
though the whole demon-world were at his back. 
Several hours passed, and finally the wanderer came 
to a lone tree. One look, and he perceived that it 
was the tree he had started from. 

The wild, horrid explosion of curses that burst 
from his lips fell idle upon the dreadful solitude, 
but to his distorted fancy they seemed to be re-echoed 


TOM PLAYFAIR. 


251 


by a million hideous tongues; and more affrighted 
than ever, he set forward again. Travel had now 
become very difficult. At times he would fall into 
a snow-drift, and on one occasion he was almost 
suffocated before he could free himself. As the 
afternoon advanced, a feeling of languor stole upon 
him; his senses were losing their sharpness. This 
but terrified him the more, for he knew that, should 
he give way to this weakness, he was lost. On he 
went, then, with the desperation of despair; on, on, 
till darkness closed about him; on, on, till the rude 
wind rose and howled and hooted after him, and 
threw itself against him; on, on, till the voices of 
the night were changed into groans and shrieks and 
dirges; on, on, till, weary, frightened, hopeless, with 
his stubbly beard and hair encrusted with ice, his 
face numb with cold, he fell and stumbled over 
some earth slightly raised above the level, — fell in 
such a manner that the raised earth served as a pil- 
low for his head. The feeling of languor had now 
become a positive force; he would not rise again — 
let hell or heaven do its worst, he cared not. Again 
there rang in his ears a wild shout as of demon tri- 
umph. Despair forced him once more to open his 
eyes. Looking straight before him, he saw — could 
it be? — a little child, clad in white and standing 
looking down upon his face. Hartnett’s eyes started 
in terror; an expression as of the damned came over 
his features, and with a low groan he fell back 
senseless. 

The day following the storm Tom with his 
friends obtained permission to visit James Aldine’s 
grave. As they approached, Harry observed : 

“ Look at that tombstone standing up right beside 


252 


TOM PLAYFAIR, 


Jimmy’s grave. It stands there all in white, like 
the ghost of a child.” 

If I were to see that in the dark,” observed Joe, 
“ it would almost scare me to death.” 

“My God! look here!” cried Tom. 

Tom had just removed a layer of snow from 
Jimmy’s grave, revealing to all the head of Hart- 
nett, pale in death, but horrible, despairing, ghastly, 
— resting on the grave of the child he had murdered. 


CHAPTER XXX. 


CONCLUSION. 



HE early history of Tom Playfair is told. On 


1 the day he made his First Communion, he may 
be said to have “made his start” in life. All the 
events dating from his first introduction to the 
reader — delay, disappointment, sorrow, disaster — 
all had converged into the shaping and perfecting 
of that “day of days,” into the moulding of a noble 
character. 

Tom had met with two tragic experiences beyond 
the lot of most boys of his years and condition in 
life, and he had borne them bravely. 

He had suffered, moreover, a bitter trial, — none 
the less a trial that it was in part self-imposed, — and 
his act of obedience had purified and strengthened 
him. 

But he was still deficient ; the evil effects of his 
unequal home-training had not been entirely effaced. 
About him there still lingered a touch of forward- 
ness, and the shadow of a boyish irreverence toward 


TOM PLAYFAIR. 


253 


his elders. Mr. Meadow’s influence had woven it- 
self into his very texture. To borrow a schoolboy’s 
expressive phrase, he was somewhat “fresh.” He 
united in his character great physical and great 
moral courage, but the sweet modesty and gentleness 
which impart a lustre to perfect bravery were yet 
to come. He was a manly boy; the manliness was 
rough at the edges. 

' On the last day of the school year Tom tapped 
at Mr. Middleton’s door to exchange a few words 
of farewell. 

“ Ah, Tom ; I’m glad you’ve come ! You’re always 
welcome, but now — So you’re going?” 

“Yes, sir; and I’ve come to ask your pardon, Mr. 
Middleton, for all the trouble I’ve given you. You 
know, sir, I can hardly help wriggling; and it’s so 
hard to keep quiet four hours a day, when there’s 
such a good chance for a little fun sometimes; 
and then, sir, I’ve got to talk sometimes, — I can’t 
hold in.” 

“Well, Tom, / haven’t complained, have I?” 

“ No, sir; that’s the way you make me feel mean. 
You’re so patient. If I were in your place, I’d 
raise a row, sure.” 

“ If I have been patient, I have had my reward ; 
for I’m glad to tell you, Tom, that your improve- 
ment in conduct and in application has been so 
steady that it could be noticed almost each week.” 

“Thank you, sir,” said Tom, blushing. 

Like most generous, noble-hearted boys, he was a 
hero-worshipper ; and from the time of the memorable 
interview between himself and Mr. Middleton, on 
the day that Tom and Pitch smoked together, his 
professor had been his hero. Tom had been con- 


254 


TOM PLAYFAIR. 


quered by kindness, — a conquest, it is scarcely neces- 
sary to say, no less creditable to the victor than to 
the vanquished. 

He had issued from that interview Mr. Middle- 
ton’s disciple; and a faithful disciple he had been. 
No wonder, then, that his chubby cheeks colored 
with pleasure at these kindly words of commenda- 
tion. 

“You remember, Tom,” continued Mr. Middleton, 
fixing an earnest look upon the little lad, “you 
remember that letter I sent your father, neariy two 
years ago ?“ 

“I shall never forget it, sir.’' 

“Well, I ventured on a bold prediction in it, and 
I have not been disappointed.” 

Tom could have kissed the hand extended to him; 
in our American way, he squeezed it heartily. 

“I must add, though,” continued Mr. Middleton, 
“that you’ve lost a friend you could ill spare.” 

“ Jimmy Aldine?” 

“ Yes; he had a gentleness and sweetness of dispo- 
sition which exerted a marked influence upon you 
for good. He was a true friend ; you needed such a 
friend; so did Harry Quip. You and Harry have 
helped each other, too; but James Aldine had an 
influence that stepped in where yours and Harry’s 
stopped short. He was in a manner a visible guard- 
ian angel to you both.” 

“He was like the fairy prince I read about the 
other day when I was alone in the infirmary with a 
sore throat and didn’t know what to do with myself,” 
sighed Tom. “ I got thinking of him when I was 
reading. I miss him very much, sir. He was the 
nicest boy I ever met.” 


TOM PLAYFAIR. 255 

“Ah, Tom, if you could find another fiiend like 
him!” 

“Well, sir, I’m young yet, and there’s no end of 
good boys in the world, if a fellow could only find 
them out. Maybe there’ll be lots of nice new boys 
here next year.” 

“Pray, Tom, pray for another James Aldine.” 

“ I will, indeed, sir.” 

And with a swelling heart he bade his teacher 
farewell. 

On that very day a Baltimore gentleman was 
bidding farewell to his daughters and an only son, 
the “fairy prince,” who were departing for Cincin- 
nati, to reside there with their aunt while theii 
father was to spend the summer in Europe with his 
invalid wife. This was the beginning of events 
which bore closely upon the conversation just re- 
corded and upon the after-life of Tom. 

Knowing nothing of this, Tom prayed all vaca- 
tion for the new friend; and in September his prayer 
was heard. 

Those of my readers who are interested in Tom 
will learn in “Percy Wynn; or. Making a Boy of 
Him,” how and under what circumstances he met 
with his “ fairy prince.” 


THE END. 








.Mi 


J. 












